


impossible to ignore

by restless5oul



Category: Derry Girls (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Drama & Romance, F/M, Family, Friendship/Love, Future Fic, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Occasional angst, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-27
Updated: 2019-06-16
Packaged: 2020-02-08 13:03:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 25,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18623824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/restless5oul/pseuds/restless5oul
Summary: it had been three years since james left derry. three years since he had seen any of the girls. and now here he was, sitting in a bar in east london staring at orla mccool who’d just walked in.~in which james does leave derry, and reconnects with his past three years later.





	1. in the east end of london.

**Author's Note:**

> this was just a little burst of inspiration i had.  
> and yes, another james/orla fic. haha. there's just a lack around here, and people seemed to be up for it on my last one.  
> i wanted to explore how the dynamics of the group might have changed had james actually left derry at the end of season 2. both between james and the girls, but also between the girls too. and by setting it in the future i feel like i can write something a bit more mature, and i'm not constrained to the tone of the show (cos let's be real i am not as funny or creative as lisa mcgee).  
> i don't think this fic will be toooo long. and don't worry, the other girls and all our favourite characters will feature just not at first.
> 
> hope you enjoy! please do let me know what you think and if there's anything you'd like to see/any criticisms.

It had been three years since James had left Derry. Three years since he had seen any of the girls. And now here he was, sitting in a bar in East London staring at Orla McCool who’d just walked in. 

 

* * *

 

 

 

James wouldn’t say he regretted his decision to leave Derry. He couldn’t afford to think like that. But barely a day had gone by where he hadn’t thought about that confused, troubled city. He missed the estate with all its rough charms, he missed Our Lady Immaculate College even though he’d never really been accepted there, he missed Dennis’ Wee Shop, the chippy whose smell he still couldn’t stomach, and he even missed the accents he could barely understand.

He missed the people too. His Aunt Deirdre who he thought cared for him in her own stern way. Sister Michael and her dry wit. Mrs Quinn mothering him aggressively. Even Granda Joe, in all his gruff and grumpy glory.

But most of all he missed the girls. He missed Clare and her desperate attempts to get the rest of them to do the right thing, no matter how often she failed. He missed Erin and all her scheming and plans and romantic dreams He missed Orla and the unexpected things she would say, just when James thought he’d heard it all. He thought he missed Michelle most, despite all the teasing and taunting, she had been family.

Sometimes when he felt low and he questioned whether he’d been right to move back to London, he thought about what she’d said to him when she’d tried to get him to stay;

“You’re a Derry girl now James.”

He didn’t think it had been true. But something about that place had stuck around in his mind. So maybe Michelle hadn’t been talking out of her arse after all.

But he couldn’t afford to think like that, it only weighed him down, and made it harder to accept that London was his home, it had always been his home. He could hardly change his mind and go back to Derry. His mum was his only real close family. And he was all she had. He owed it to her to stay.

Sure, the self adhesive label business hadn’t lasted more than six months, and then his mum had got herself a new boyfriend who hadn’t been all that great. That resulted in eighteen months in a two-up two-down in Highbury with a man he barely knew pretending to be his father, and a moody fourteen-year-old who hadn’t been too happy that he was having to share his bedroom. James hadn’t really wanted to share either. But he knew he had to go where his mum did. He had come back to London for her, so he had to stick by her.

It had been nice to see all his old friends again, and go back to a school where he wasn’t the only boy. But it wasn’t quite the same as before. He expected he could just walk right on in there and it would be like nothing at changed. But so much had changed. Sure, the classrooms, and teachers, and lessons were all the same. But James felt different. He hadn’t even realised he’d changed until he tried to walk back into his old life. He could tell his friends could see it too, but they never mentioned it.

Then he started university, and he moved out of the two-up two-down and into student accommodation, he made new friends, and life finally started to feel like it was moving forward. He felt like he was living for himself, not his mother. And he was beginning to think that maybe he could forget about Derry, and the girls, and everything he’d left behind three years ago.

 

 

* * *

 

Now he was staring at Orla, half sure he was either hallucinating or mistaking someone else for her, and it felt like his past was following him around, clinging to his back, determined to haunt him.

“Mate, what are you staring at?” James was shaken from his staring by a voice beside him, and turned to see his friend Olly trying to follow where he was looking.

“Nothing, nothing,” he said quickly, suddenly embarrassed and not ready to answer questions if they did work it out. He’d said little about what had gone on in Derry to his high school friends, and he hadn’t mentioned it at all to his new friends at university. He kept the details vague if he had to, focusing on places and things he’d seen, rather than people.

“Is it that girl there…the one with the curly hair? The purple leather jacket?” Olly said, hitting the mark exactly. James just stared into the bottom of his pint glass, draining the last dregs of his beer, “She’s not exactly a stunner.”

An unfamiliar anger flared in James’ chest. This was Orla there were talking about, sweet and kind and not made to be talked about like she was something to simply look at. Luckily his new flatmate Guy spoke up and saved James from saying anything stupid.

“She’s kind of cute, in a weird kind of Linda Evangelista way.”

Olly scoffed beside him, and James knew he had to cut this particular conversation short.

“It’s not like that…I, uh, I actually know her,” James said, looking between both of his friends.

“You know a _girl_?” Olly frowned, craning his neck to get a better look at Orla.

“Ha ha,” James muttered sarcastically.

“How do you know her?” Guy asked.

“From when I lived in Derry,” James shrugged.

“When the hell did you live in Derry? I thought you were from London,” Guy frowned, James forgetting that he hadn’t gotten round to telling him these things yet, even though they’d been sharing a flat for months.

“He is. But he lived there for a year or so, when he was…what were you, fifteen? Sixteen?” Olly butted in, clearly a little proud he knew James better.

“Sixteen.”

“Why did you live in Northern Ireland?” Guy asked, the way he said it making it sound like James had vacationed in Timbuktu or somewhere equally far flung.

“His mum’s from Derry,” Olly answered for him again.

“She is?”

James nodded.

“Wait, I thought it was called Londonderry.”

“It’s complicated, it depends…”

James let Olly explain that particular conundrum. It was kind of nice to let his friends bond, and he didn’t particularly want to get involved in that conversation.

He was too busy scanning the room to try see where Orla had gone, wondering if it was the right thing to do to try find her and say hello because he couldn’t imagine what on earth he would say to her if he did. What if she was angry with him? The thought suddenly occurred to him. He had left so suddenly, without a proper goodbye really, and he hadn’t sent so much as a word to the girls since he had. It was out of cowardice really, scared that he’d have to live knowing they hated him. It was the same cowardice that kept him glued to his seat. Pretending that he hadn’t just seen her, and trying his best not to think about it.

His friends didn’t bring it up again, instead winding up in some heated debate about politics or something equally depressing. James was happy when Guy suggested they head back to the flat. He didn’t want to run the risk of Orla seeing him. Even though the bar was now packed wall-to-wall, and he couldn’t see the sight of her anywhere, despite the glances he was stealing across the room every three seconds. London was a big city after all, if Orla was here for a week or two, the chances James would run into her twice were very slim indeed.

As he slipped out into the cold March night, James shivered, and that’s when he realised he’d left his jacket at their table.

“Shit. Look, you guys go on ahead, I left my jacket inside,” he said to his two friends who rolled their eyes at him.

“Hurry up, we’ve got a bus to catch,” Olly groaned.

“Go on ahead, I’ll meet you at the stop,” James said, already turning back to head inside the bar.

He fought his way through the crowd again, back to their table where his denim jacket was still hanging off the back of one of the chairs. With a relieved smile James picked it up and shoved it on hastily with all the intentions in the world to dash back outside and run to catch up with his friends.

But the small sound of an intake of breath behind him caught his attention.

“It _is_ you.”

That accent he couldn’t forget, in that gravelly, sing-song voice. There was no mistaking who was talking to him.


	2. are we strangers now?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this wasn't up as soon as i'd have liked but it's here now!  
> sorry if things are a little slow to get going, i just feel like i need to set up the scene before anything gets going.  
> anyway i hope you enjoy, and as ever, comments are very much appreciated.

James turned around and stared straight into the face of Orla McCool.

The first thing he noticed was how much she’d changed, yet still managed to look almost exactly the same. She’d grown a couple more inches, still matching James for height almost exactly. Her face had gotten sharper, more angular, making her look older – and James remembered that she was. This wasn’t the same fifteen-year-old he’d met all those years ago. But she still had the same wide, round eyes, the same curly hair, the same freckles on her face. And when she smiled, it sent him straight back to Derry.

The smile caught him a little off guard, it hadn’t exactly been the reaction he’d been imagining.

“James Maguire,” she grinned, and then surprised James even more by throwing her arms around his neck. Not that hugging him wasn’t like her. He’d just been expecting a colder reception.

“I…yeah,” he stammered, unable to even think of what he should say, let alone say it.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, pulling back.

“I live in London.”

“Oh yeah!” she laughed, like she’d forgotten, “Me too.”

“You do?” he asked, too confused by her statement to be stressed about how he hadn’t prepared for what would happen if he met one of the girls again.

“Aye, I go to school here. Drama school,” she nodded.

“Oh…wow that’s, wow,” James hadn’t been expecting that either. He felt a little like he was struggling to keep up with the conversation. Which was similar to how he used to feel whenever he spoke to Orla. Though now he came to think of it, he’d never had too many one-on-one conversations with her.

“I can’t believe you’re here. You know, I used to think maybe you’d come back to Derry sometime, but here you are.”

James tried not to flinch at Orla’s words. Somehow knowing that she’d missed him, even a little bit, hurt more than her hating him ever could. Luckily, she didn’t seem to notice.

“Were you just about to leave?” she asked him, tugging one a strand of her curly hair that had fallen in front of her face.

“Uh yeah I was.”

“I’ll come with you, the people I came with are kind of boring anyway. You’ll have to tell me where the good craic is around here, all anyone ever talks about is essays this, and rehearsals that,” she rambled on, linking her arm through James’ and steering him through the crowded bar and towards the door. She didn’t seem too keen on saying goodbye to whoever her friends were, she was straight out the door and into the cool night air.

“So you got into drama school? I didn’t know you wanted to act,” he said, half drawn by a polite need to make conversation, but also realising that he was desperate to know how life in Derry had moved on since he had left. In his head he had always pictured it as unchanging. But here was Orla, clinging onto his side, living proof that things had changed, that life had gone on.

“I didn’t either. But I’m quite good at it, actually. So Mammy convinced me to apply and here I am,” Orla nodded, making it sound all very simple, though James was sure the whole process took a lot more work and time than she was making it sound, “She said I had to come to London, that it was the only place I could go if I was gonna make it. She was buzzing when I got my acceptance letter.”

James smiled, and he was about to congratulate her when he realised she was leading him in completely the opposite direction to the bus stop.

“Wait, where are we going?” he asked, glancing around.

“The tube station, I need to catch me train.”

“I’m not getting the tube, I was gonna get the bus home.”

“Oh,” Orla looked deflated, glancing up at James with sad eyes.

“I’ll walk you to the station though,” James quickly said, mostly so he could see her eyes light up again, but also because he wasn’t about to make Orla walk through London in the dark, on her own. Though he had no doubt she could take care of herself just fine without him.

“Good, I still haven’t got to ask you what you’re doing. You still helping your mam with her sticker stuff?”

James wished she hadn’t remembered that particular piece of information.

“Um no, not anymore. I actually go to uni now, I live out in Mile End,” he explained, hoping he could steer clear from talking about his mother. He wasn’t ready to admit to himself all the things he thought and felt about her and the things she had and hadn’t done. So he didn’t feel like he could answer Orla’s questions.

“You do?” she asked, sounding like it was one of the most wonderful things she’d heard.

“Yeah, I study law.”

“Wow,” she raised an eyebrow, “Very fancy.”

“I suppose,” there was a moment of silence when Orla rested her head on James’ shoulder, before he spoke again, “What about the other girls?”

“Well, our Erin’s gone and landed herself a job at the Derry Journal,” Orla said and James could hear the pride dripping from her voice, “She says she only gets the boring stuff at the moment, but when you buy the paper, you can still see her name on there, usually nearer the back, but it’s there. I keep trying to find a copy since I’ve been here, but I’ve been here months and I can’t find it anywhere.”

James wasn’t sure if it would be totally helpful if he pointed out that the Derry Journal probably wasn’t sold outside of Derry.

“And Clare’s at university in Belfast, oh! And she’s got herself a wee girlfriend too James, it is so cracker to see the two of them together.”

“Really? That’s great,” James smiled, remembering the bravery it had taken Clare to stand up and tell her truth to the world. He thought fondly of the rainbow pin that still sat at the bottom of a drawer in his bedside table.

“She’s so happy.”

“And, uh, what about Michelle?” James finally asked, noticing that Orla had avoided mentioning his cousin. Thinking of Michelle was the hardest, thinking about her impassioned plea for him to stay. Maybe Orla could sense that, or maybe she thought Michelle wouldn’t want him to know.

“She’s still in Derry. She’s got a job…it changes a lot, but somewhere I’m sure,” Orla nodded, before dropping her voice to a whisper, “She was really angry when you left you know. She didn’t speak to any of us for days.”

James sighed. That had been the kind of things he was imagining. He could almost picture Michelle stomping around her room, cursing his name until she hated him. James wouldn’t blame her if she did.

“She’s alright though. She’s Michelle,” Orla said with a hint of reassurance. And James knew what she meant.

They walked the rest of the way in near silence, until they reached the brick building of the ticket office. They both stopped outside it and Orla turned to James.

“I will see you again, won’t I?” she asked, sounding genuinely unsure of the answer.

“Yeah, yeah of course.”

James had never really imagined he’d be given the chance to be let back into the girls’ lives, but with Orla so close by and already extending her hand for him, he couldn’t bear to say no. Over the past three years he hadn’t really thought he was missing anyone from his life, he had his mum, that should have been enough. But there had clearly been a hole, that should have been filled by four Derry Girls.

“I know! Why don’t you come to Mass with me on Sunday, then we can have lunch or something afterwards? You still go to Church right?”

“Yeah I do, sometimes.”

Admittedly he hadn’t been often since he’d stopped living with his mum, but he wasn’t opposed to going with Orla.

“Class. I go to Our Lady of Hal, on Arlington Road, it’s easy to find. I’ll see you there!”

Orla turned to leave, but she only got a few steps away before she turned around and ran back to James. She threw her arms around his neck again, and this time James wasn’t too shocked to hug her back tightly.

“I really, _really_ missed you James,” she whispered.

“I missed you too.”


	3. at the sign of the cross.

James was stood outside of the church on Sunday morning, staring up at the red brick building and feeling another swell of trepidation in the pit of his stomach. It was the same feeling that had been coursing through his body all morning, when he’d been getting ready that morning, when he’d been eating his breakfast, on the train over. The brief conversation he’d had with Orla earlier in the week felt a little like a dream. He kept playing it over in his head but he still couldn’t be sure that it really happened. It seemed too crazy to think that she’d waltzed back into his life after he’d left all that behind. But there she’d been. And here he was.

Swallowing down the incessant nerves that just wouldn’t budge, he pushed open the door to the church. Going to church had always just been a way to spend time with his mother. It was at least one time in the week where he knew exactly where she would be and he could spend time with her, just the two of them. It felt hard to find a reason to go if it would just be him. Now he only ever went if he was going with her.

Inside, the church was only about half full, as James scanned until his eyes fell upon a head of curly, brown hair stood about three rows from the front. James quietly made his way until he was stood by her side.

“Hi,” he said, aware that Mass was about to begin.

“I was worried you weren’t gonna come,” Orla smiled, taking his hand and squeezing it tightly.

“I’m here.”

They didn’t speak for the rest of the service, but James could see her glancing at him out of the corner of her eye, a small grin playing on her lips. Her face spoke all the emotions James couldn’t push his inhibitions aside to feel. She looked so excited that he was back in her life, unabashedly happy that she’d got something back she thought she’d lost. It was how James wanted to feel, but there was too much guilt in the way. He knew he’d hurt them when he left, and he didn’t feel like he deserved Orla just letting him back into his life again. He felt like he had to earn it somehow. How ironic that he was standing in front of an altar when he felt like he was searching for forgiveness.

Orla nudged him, and that’s when James realised Mass was over and the rest of the congregation was filing out. He’d been too busy lost in his own thoughts, staring up at the stained glass in front of him like it held all the answers.

“I know somewhere we can go for lunch,” she said, taking his hand again, this time holding on. Something about the gesture surprised him. But he remembered this is how Orla was, always giving her friends affection, letting them know she cared without having to say anything at all. Maybe she could see the troubled look on his face.

“Okay, let’s go.”

She ended up leading him to a café near St Martin’s Gardens, small and cosy, maybe a little cheap and cheerful, but the coffee smelt great and James’ stomach rumbled as he looked at the rows of sandwiches on the counter. They sat down together opposite each other at a table in the corner of the room, just by the window.

“What can I get for you?” the waitress said as she approached their table.

“Ooo what do you call those wee little drinks with all the foam and the chocolate on top? You know, it’s coffee, but then the milk is all whipped. They are class, they are…” Orla began to ramble to the waitress, looking incredibly excited. After she said about three words James realised that the waitress couldn’t understand a word she was saying.

“We’ll have two cappuccinos, and two cheese and tomato toasties,” James interrupted Orla’s inquiries about exactly how they got to milk to foam.

“Thank you,” the waitress said, looking grateful.

Orla turned to watch her leave with their menus before she turned back to James.

 “Now I’m the one with the fucked up accent,” she said.

James didn’t tell her that her accent sounded more like home than anything he heard back in England. He didn’t even realise he felt that way until the thought popped into his head.

“I’m glad you came today,” she smiled again. Smiling seemed to be all Orla did around him.

“I enjoyed it,” he said, though he wasn’t really sure if ‘enjoy’ was a word he associated with Mass. But it felt like the right thing to say.

“No one _enjoys_ Mass. But we have to go, right?” she said, as if she could read his mind.

“Right,” James nodded.

“Tell me more about London, you know it better than I do. I want to know where all the fun is, where did you grow up? What’s your favourite place?” Orla asked, and James was sure she would have asked another question had he not interrupted her. He didn’t remember Orla being quite so talkative before. Maybe it was a newfound confidence, but he’d never thought of Orla as unconfident before.

James found himself telling Orla all about London, about where he hung out, where he ate, where he drank. In Derry he’d always been made to feel embarrassed about being proud of his home city, but Orla listened with rapt attention. And she let him speak at length, he finished long after their sandwiches had arrived, but never once did he think she wasn’t listening.

“London’s just so massive,” Orla said, to conclude James’ little speech.

“It is.”

Orla took a bite of her sandwich, looking pensive.

“Do you like it though?” James asked.

“Oh aye. It’s nothing like Derry. But I like the folk here, I like that they come from everywhere. And school is great.”

“What is drama school like?”

“Mental. But great. But mental. And busy too. Sunday’s me only free day when I don’t have classes or rehearsals.”

“When did you decide that’s what you wanted?”

“I started taking classes just after you left. Down at the Playhouse. I wanted something to do, to fill the time. I didn’t…the other girls they…things got a little distant for a little while, we didn’t hang out so much. It’s better now,” Orla tripped over her words, like she couldn’t work out quite what she wanted to say. Though James had never known her to censor herself before.

There was a pregnant pause, and James sipped his coffee while he pondered over the dreaded question he knew he had to ask.

“Was it because of me?” James asked.

“Was what because of you?”

“The reason you drifted apart, you and the girls,” James clarified, almost physically wincing imaging the four of them not joined at the hip all the time.

“Sort of. You were like the glue that held us all together. But like, invisible glue, so we didn’t notice until you’d gone and then it all sort of just…” Orla mimed what James guessed was supposed to be something melting with her hands.

“I’m sorry,” he apologised, for what felt like the first of many times.

“Don’t,” Orla shook her head, “You had to go back for your mam. I get that. We all do.”

“Thank you,” James mumbled, feeling like he really needed to hear that. He was a little surprised at Orla’s talent for finding the right thing to say. At least in this instance.

“How is she? Mammy is always banging on about her eyebrows you know.”

“Good, she’s good,” James answered automatically, but he wasn’t sure how true that was.

“Do you still live with her?”

“No, I live in student accommodation.”

“Oh, right.”

“I lived with her before I went to uni though. With her boyfriend and his son, in North London.”

“So you have a brother!” Orla sounded pleased at the thought of him having a sibling, “I wish I did though I suppose Erin is basically my sister.”

James laughed slightly awkwardly.

“He’s not really my brother. We, uh, he’s alright. He’s a lot younger than me, we had to share a bedroom, _his_ bedroom. I don’t think he appreciated that much.”

“Well he should’ve appreciated you as a brother, you’d be grand as a brother,” Orla smiled in what James assumed she meant to be a reassuring way. She paused before adding, “Michelle said she’d leave you again.”

James nodded.

“She told me the same thing when she tried to stop me from leaving.”

“But she didn’t.”

“No…no she didn’t.”

It was true, she had stuck around.

For the first couple months of being back in London, when it was just the two of them and James was back at his old school and his mum’s self adhesive label business was going well, it had been amazing. It had been everything James had hoped for when he lay in his bed in Derry wishing there would be a knock on the door and his mother would be there. It had been the pair of them against the world. But then old habits had kicked in again, and suddenly she wasn’t always around for dinner, or even when he got in from school. There were new men standing in the kitchen making small talk while James just wanted to get his breakfast in peace. And then there had been the move up to live with her new boyfriend, and James was fairly sure it was only because they couldn’t afford the rent on their flat after everything had gone south with his mum’s business. Then he’d had to spend eighteen months feeling like a stranger in a house that never felt like home. And his mum hadn’t really seemed to notice. Then again, this was the same woman who had dumped him in other country without saying goodbye.

“You alright James?” Orla asked, her eyes wide with concern. James realised that he’d been staring at the crumbs on his plate, caught in a daze.

“Yeah m’fine.”

“Families are hard,” Orla said sagely, and she placed her hand on top of James’. James smiled, but he felt a pang of jealousy. He was fairly sure Orla had the best family in the entire world, even Granda Joe.

They chatted a little more, before Orla told him that she really ought to get back to her house, telling James she had a mountain of work lying on her desk. But before she stood up, she pulled a scrap of paper out the beaded bag she was carrying with her.

“Here’s my address, and the landline. Call me, pop round for tea, whatever you want,” she said, sliding the paper across the table towards him, “Please.”

James could tell this wasn’t just a formality, or her being polite, he was fairly sure Orla didn’t believe in those things anyway. She genuinely wanted her friend back.

“Of course.”

“Don’t be a stranger,” she said as she pulled her scarf around her neck and stood up. She seemed in two minds about how to say goodbye, after a moment of deliberation she settled for leaning down and kissing James’ cheek softly.

“I’ll see you soon.”

“You will.”


	4. tea, just the way you like it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this is a bit slow going, i've just always been way more of a fan of slow burn, but things, i hope, start to get a little more interesting in this chapter.
> 
> thank you for all the comments and kudos as ever.

James was stood in front of a blue door with an intercom on the wall beside it, a list of buttons and names telling him who he would find in each flat above. There was a florist beside him on the right and a bookmakers on the left, and it seemed odd to him that this was where Orla lived. It was nothing like her little house in Derry. In fact, it was so perfectly ordinary that he could scarcely imagine her stepping foot inside the door. His finger was hovering over the call button nest to the number four, and it had been for the past thirty seconds, but he couldn’t bring himself to press it. It had been two weeks since he’d gone to church with Orla and he hadn’t found the time to call her or go see her. It wasn’t that he’d wanted to see her. Sure, he still had mixed feelings about his decision to leave Derry, he probably always would, but he knew Orla was giving him a chance to resurrect something he’d thrown away, and she wanted to give him that chance. He’d just been so busy, with school, with finally seeing his mum, that he hadn’t had the chance. But on his first free Sunday, he made the trip into Camden Town, and here he was.

“James?” someone called his name, and James dropped his hand and turned around to see Orla walking towards him, her arms laden with carrier bags. Her face lit up when she saw it was in fact him, and she hurried forwards, half running towards him.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, after she attempted to hug him, but seemed to realise she couldn’t with all the things she was carrying.

“I thought I’d come visit you,” he said, taking a couple of the bags off her as she rooted around in her beaded bag for her keys.

She let him inside the front door and up an old wooden staircase, towards another blue door at the top with a golden number four nailed onto it. Inside the flat had an open plan kitchen and living room, with a dining table pushed up against one side, it was small, with just a sofa and two chairs, and a little satellite TV perched on top of a rickety looking table. He watched Orla dump her shopping bags on the kitchen worktop, so he did the same.

“Let me put this away, then I’ll make you some tea,” she said, opening the fridge and shoving a block of cheese inside haphazardly.

James helped as best as he could, but after thirty seconds he realised he was just in the way, so he stepped aside to let Orla finish. He glanced around and saw there were three doors leading off from the main room.

“Do you have flatmates?” he asked, as Orla stood on her tiptoes to reach a box of Yorkshire tea perched on a high shelf.

“Oh aye. Sarah’s probably still asleep and Matt’s working,” she said, smiling triumphantly when she secured two tea bags from the box.

The names sounded foreign coming out of Orla’s mouth. James had never really thought of her as having other friends, he certainly hadn’t when he was in Derry besides the girls, and he assumed it was the same for them. The four of them certainly seemed to revolve around each other, they never seemed to need other friends. Though Orla always seemed to follow a slightly different trajectory to the rest of them, hovering on the fringes, rather than firmly planting herself in the centre of everything. Maybe Orla had had a whole other life that James had no idea about. But he still found it hard to imagine her laughing with or living with anyone who wasn’t one of the girls.

“Here you go,” she handed James a mug and led him over to the sofa. He took a sip of his tea and realised she’d remembered just how he liked it, with a splash of milk and one sugar.

When they sat down Orla filled James in on everything that had been going on in her life since he’d last seen her, and he realised that she hadn’t been exaggerating at all when she said she was busy. Her schedule sounded packed, and he didn’t know how she kept up. He thought his degree could be fairly full on, but now he felt bad for skipping lectures when she was clearly managing to keep up her attendance. She ended her anecdote by telling James that she was supposed to perform a monologue in her class the next day and she was, to use her own turn of phrase, ‘cacking herself’.

“I don’t usually get nervous, but it’s just gonna be me, on my own up there.”

James thought it sounded like the most terrifying thing in the world, he thought it was amazing that she could even consider it. But then this was the same girl who had performed a step aerobic routine in front of the whole school.

“I can’t imagine you being nervous,” he said.

“I’m scared,” she admitted. Watching James with sad eyes that made her look fifteen again, “I’m just the funny girl with the funny accent, and nobody takes me seriously.”

James was fairly sure his heart broke when she said that, and the look on her face made him feel like she had no idea how that sounded.

“You’ll be amazing,” he said, trying to smile reassuringly, “Look, why don’t you practice now, and I’ll tell you honestly what I think. And then you’ll know what to do tomorrow, and it won’t be so scary.”

“Ach James, would you?” she said, looking like she thought it was a good idea, “And you have to be brutally honest with me. If it’s shit now, it’ll be shit tomorrow.”

“I promise I’ll tell you the truth.”

“Pinky promise?” she asked, holding out her hand and raising her smallest finger. James linked his own finger around hers.

“Promise.”

“Okay I’ll get my script,” she said, jumping to her feet and darting through one the doors which he guessed lead to her bedroom. She left the door slightly ajar behind her as she began rifling through a stack of papers on her bedside table, and he found himself craning his neck to get a look at the room. All he could really see was the midnight blue duvet strewn across her bed, stacks of books which seemed to be falling off the shelves, and what seemed to be a large multi-coloured sheet hung across one of the walls. He didn’t look for very long before she was walking back into the living room again, and shutting her bedroom door behind her.

Orla handed him the script, and he could see the uncharacteristic nerves flutter across her face.

“You have to tell me if I get any of the words wrong.”

“Alright,” he said, nodding and looking down at the sheet of paper. He wasn’t very familiar with plays, or even really books, but he though it was Shakespeare that he was holding in his hands.

“And don’t laugh,” she said sternly.

“I would never.”

He watched Orla clear her throat, closing her eyes for a second while she clenched her fists for a moment. She exhaled slowly, and then opened her eyes.

“Think not I love him, though I ask for him.

'Tis but a peevish boy; yet he talks well;

But what care I for words? yet words do well,

When he that speaks them pleases those that hear…”

James hadn’t seriously prepared himself for the possibility that Orla might actually be good at this. And she was, she really was. When she opened her mouth it felt like she transformed into an entirely different person in front of his eyes, she seamlessly altered her voice so her accent faded entirely and was replaced by one that sounded not dissimilar to James’. Her expression was intense, fired up by the words that she recited faultlessly. James wasn’t sure he understood the odd, old English language. He couldn’t decipher meaning from the words alone, but the feeling she injected into made it perfectly clear. He felt and saw someone utterly torn in their feelings, desperately trying not to admit that she was in love. The vulnerable expression on her face, and the raw words she spoke stirred something in the pit of James’ stomach, and he had to remind himself that was he was listening to wasn’t real.

“…I'll write to him a very taunting letter,

And thou shalt bear it: wilt thou, Silvius?”

Orla exhaled sharply as she finished, staring at James’ expectantly. For a few seconds James forgot to speak, still stunned at her performance.

“That was…wow,” he said, wondering if there was anything useful he could tell her.

“It was alright?” she asked, biting her lip.

“It was brilliant.”

Her face flushed with pride and she sank down onto the couch next to him, looking equally relieved and pleased with herself.

“You think I’ll be alright tomorrow?” she asked, pushing her thick curls out of her face.

“I don’t know much about acting or Shakespeare, but I’m sure you’ll smash it.”

Orla grinned wider and took the script from James’ hands gently. James found himself watching her face closely, like he was just know seeing all the ways in which she’d changed, all the ways she wasn’t the teenager he’d known before. There was a calmness about her that hadn’t been there before, but some of the wonderful innocence and naivety she’d always possessed had disappeared. He felt like he could see sharper edges that hadn’t been there before.

“How did you do that thing, with your voice?” he asked, causing her to glance up at him.

“Oh the accent?”

“Yeah.”

“Well,” she said with a slight laugh to her voice, “At me audition, they told me that they thought it might be a problem if I could only talk in my accent. People over here can’t exactly understand us all the time. So I told them I’d do my whole audition again, that I could do an English accent. I’d never tried before, but I just remembered how you used to talk, and I did the whole thing in your voice.”

James let out a light laugh of disbelief.

“In my voice?”

“Well you’re the only English person I know, or at least, that I don’t know just from the telly. Now we take classes in accents and stuff so I don’t have to do it in your voice exactly anymore.”

“Well you’re really amazing Orla.”

“Thank you James.”

She smiled at James, a little shier than the grin she’d had before, and James found something in her gaze that was hard to look away from. That was, until he heard the sound of a door opening and a sleepy looking girl with blonde hair emerged from the room behind Orla. She was still wearing striped pyjamas and didn’t look like she cared that someone unfamiliar was sitting in their living room.

“Morning,” she mumbled, trudging over to the kitchen.

“It’s one o’clock in the afternoon,” Orla pointed out.

“It’s Sunday.”

Orla glanced at James, a conspiratorial look in her eye that made it hard for James to stifle a laugh.


	5. amateur dramatics.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a long one this one! no idea how i finished it so quickly. and i think you're either going to love me or hate me for it.

Over the next few months, James saw Orla more and more often. Until it became part of his routine to show up at her flat or meet her for coffee, in between his lectures and essays and reading. They rarely spent more than a few days without seeing each other, not because they made a concerted effort to spend time together, but because it seemed to be what they both wanted. James got the impression that while Orla got on with her flatmates and she had friends from drama school, there wasn’t anyone she was exceptionally close with. No one should could tell every random thought that popped into her head, or who wouldn’t judge her when she spent five pounds on pick-and-mix when they went to the cinema. James had his friends from high school, and his flatmates, and the people he sat next to in seminars when he wanted someone to bond with over having not done the required reading. But being with Orla reminded him of a time in his life when he was beginning to think he had been at his happiest. He didn’t think so much around her, he liked a break from the laddish banter he just couldn’t keep up with, and he liked to not feel like he was treading on eggshells as he often did around his mother.

Sometime at the end of June, just as the two of them were swamped with revision and exams and assessments, Orla had handed him a slip of paper when they’d been sat in her bedroom studying. Their usual spot at the kitchen table having been taken over by her flatmate Matt who was using it to work on some art installation for his own end-of-year assessments.

“Hm?” James looked up when he felt the paper being pushed against his hand. He put his pencil down when he saw Orla was trying to hand him something.

“It’s for me end of year show. The school puts on this big showcase and all these fancy people come and watch, well, not for us really, for the people graduating. But I’ve got a little bit part and I wanted you to come,” she explained, pressing what he now realised was a ticket into the palm of his hand.

“Oh Orla,” he felt touched that she had thought of him and a little caught off guard by the moment.

“We get to invite family and friends and you’re the only one I have here so,” she shrugged, and James laughed, the moment gone a little when he realised he was both her first and last choice.

“Thanks.”

“You have to dress smart, maybe you can wear that class scarf you have, the stripy one that fella in that show you like wears, you know the one,” she said.

James very much doubted his Dr Who outfits would help him blend in. He knew the kinds of people that usually went to drama schools, and the kinds of people they were related too, and he was fairly sure he didn’t fit the bill already. He mentally reminded himself that Orla clearly thought him worthy, so he shouldn’t mind.

“We’ll see.”

In the end he decided against the scarf, but he did keep the suit, with a tie borrowed from one of his flatmates. Though he’d had to endure an endless ribbing when he’d gone to ask for it.

“What do you need a tie for?” Harry had asked him, looking way to suspicious at his request.

“To go with my suit,” James replied, folding his arms across his chest, already sensing that this wasn’t going to be a simple conversation.

“Why you wearing a suit?” Guy piped up, clearly deciding he wanted to join the conversation.

“I’m going to the theatre,” James replied feeling his cheeks heat up when he got the expected looks from his flatmates.

“The theatre, ey?”

“Christ look at you, what you off to the theatre for?”

“To see my friend in a play.”

“Your _friend_?” Harry smirked, putting much emphasis on the word.

“Yes my friend, now can-“

“Who’s this friend? Do we know her?” Harry pressed further.

“How do you know it’s a ‘her’?” Guy pointed out.

“Of course it is, you wouldn’t wear a suit just for your mate.”

“Fair point.”

“So who is she?” Harry turned back to James.

“Just a friend, I know her from Derry.”

“Wait a second! Is it that girl from the pub? The Linda Evangelista?” Guy almost jumped off the sofa in his apparent excitement.

James just nodded.

“Well, well, you sly dog.”

“It’s not like that-,”

“Wait James has a girlfriend?” Harry asked Guy, now completely ignoring James.

“She’s not my-,” James tried to explain.

“He was giving her the eye that night, they must have been seeing each other.”

“We would have noticed if James was finally getting laid.”

“Not if he’s been hiding it, you know him, he likes to keep to himself.”

“Jake always said that was because he’s gay.”

“Well clearly not if he’s off to watch this girl in a play.”

“What’s she look like then? If you’ve-,”

“Look!” James raised his voice, probably one of the few times he’d ever done so in front of them. It had the intended effect because they both shut their mouths and glanced up at him, “Can I just borrow the tie? Please?”

“Sure, whatever. It’s in my bedside table,” Harry shrugged.

As James left the living room he could hear the two of them starting up their conversation about him again.

The tie was fairly nice, James had to admit, though he had no idea why Harry owned it. But he didn’t think it was worth the hassle. Leaning closer to the mirror on the inside of his wardrobe door, James smoothed the lapels of his jacket down with his hands, he frowned at the curls on top of his head, not quite sitting right. He reminded himself that Orla wouldn’t mind, not half as much as he did.

“Right, let’s crack on,” James muttered to himself, reaching behind him to pick up the bouquet of flowers that had been sitting in a jug full of water on his desk. He didn’t know if they were overkill, but it felt like the right thing to do, and it had made him smile to imagine the look on Orla’s face when he gave them to her.

He tried to slip out the front door as quietly as possible but he heard a voice yell behind him;

“Harry he’s got flowers!”

“Oh he is definitely getting-,”

James slammed the door shut before he had to hear the rest of that sentence.

When he arrived at the Hampstead Theatre he could already see people milling about outside, cigarettes and programs in hand, and the foyer looked full of students mingling with their parents and loved ones. James had no idea that this showcase was such a big deal. But then he didn’t understand a lot about all these things.

He wasn’t sure how he was meant to find Orla in the crowd, he wasn’t even sure if she would be there, or whether she’d be hiding backstage. She had mentioned that the showcase wasn’t really for her, but for the graduating students. James decided his best bet was to asked the lady stood behind the reception. Feeling more out of place than he ever had before, James clenched the flowers tightly in his hand, patted the ticket in his pocket, and marched up to the desk, trying to exude some air of confidence at least.

“Hi, I was wondering where I could find, uh, the students who are performing? Um, she’s not, she’s only a first year so I don’t know…” James tried his best to explain to the lady with the blank look on her face.

“Well most of the students are milling about, but I suppose you could check the dressing rooms round the back, there’ll be someone outside, so you can just ask for her,” the lady sounded incredibly bored, but she pointed one finger in the direction of the doorway to her left.

“Um thank you,” he said, trying a smile.

Behind the doorway, and another set beyond that, he found a long corridor with tens of doors on either side. There was noise coming through the walls on either side, but there was only one person in the corridor, leaning against the wall holding a clipboard.

“Excuse me?” James called, and the guy looked up.

“Yeah?” the man replied, his voice short and clipped.

“I’m looking for someone, her name’s Orla, Orla McCool,” James said, trying to ignore the way the man was looking him up and down, his eyes settling on the flowers in his now rather sweaty grip.

“Oh right, uh one second. Stay here,” he flipped through a few pages before he found the one he needed. He walked a little way down the hall but James got the impression that he wasn’t supposed to follow. He couldn’t hear what he was saying, but a few seconds later Orla stepped through the door.

Her usually wild hair had been tamed somewhat, the curls flattened to soft waves that were tied back from her face by a blue ribbon. She looked confused, her eyes squinted and her mouth turned downwards into a frown. Then she turned and it was like the sun shone from her face.

“James!”

She practically skipped down the hallway towards him, not just throwing her arms around him in the overenthusiastic way she usually did but also her legs so James had to use both his arms to hold her up.

“I didn’t think I’d see you until after the show,” he could almost hear the smile in her voice.

“I wanted to give you these,” he said as she planted her feet back on the carpet. He held up the flowers and her eyes lit up like she hadn’t noticed them before.

“Ach James,” her cheeks flushed pink and her eyes looked watery for a second. He handed them over to her and watched her clutch the bouquet to her chest.

“I don’t know if it’s what you’re supposed to do, but I thought they’d bring you luck,” he said as she pressed her nose against the petals, inhaling deeply and he quickly added, “Not that you need it.”

“Everyone needs a little luck,” she smiled, her eyes crinkling where the electric blue eyeliner flicked upwards from the corners of her green eyes.

“Anyway I just wanted to say good luck, no wait, break a leg.”

“Thanks, I should be going, I have to finish getting ready you know how it is.”

“Of course.”

“I’ll see you after,” she said as she walked backwards, pressing her fingertips to her lips before raising it and waving.

James found his seat and settled down in between two elderly couples. The showcase was long, a collection of different scenes and sketches, most of which went completely over his head. He was mostly amazed at the production of it all. The only theatre he’d ever seen was the Christmas panto when he was a boy, and he thought this outsold that. Seeing Orla up on the stage, doing her bit part in one of the later scenes, James felt like he could have burst with pride. It all felt a million miles away from Derry. And for the first time, James didn’t mind.

He felt himself beginning to like this new life he had in London. Not the same one he’d grown up in, but something better, something where he might actually be able to make something of himself. One that didn’t have everything he wanted. But at least he had Orla.

He couldn’t even bring himself to feel embarrassed when he clapped the loudest at the end of their part. And again when Orla came back out for the final bows. When he met her afterwards she had ditched the ribbon and eyeliner for a pair of flared jeans and a bright red bomber jacket, that beaded bag she always carried slung over her shoulder. The bunch of flowers were still in her hand.

“Thought we could go for a drink?” she said as soon as she reached him, linking their arms together.

“Sounds great,” he smiled, “You were brilliant by the way.”

“I was alright, I’ll do better tomorrow night,” she shrugged.

Orla led him to a bar not far from the theatre. It seemed to be populated mostly by a student-y crowd, so Orla guessed that was how she knew the place. He was grateful though because he felt distinctly less out of place there than he had in the theatre. He let Orla grab them a table while he bought two pints.

“How’d you find it with all them stuffy, posh types then?” Orla said when James sat down opposite her.

“Fine. They mostly just ignored me,” James shrugged, taking a sip of his drink.

“You get used to it.”

“People ignore you at school?”

“Only the stuck up people.”

James got the impression there were rather a lot of stuck up people at a top English drama school.

“But I don’t want to be their friend anyway. There’s a few nice ones, normal ones. We stick together,” Orla smiled, “Is it like that at your uni?”

“A bit. It’s not so bad though, not like here I bet.”

“I bet,” Orla grinned mischievously.

Three, four, or possibly five drinks later, Orla was leaning against James as they stood out on the smoking terrace of another bar. It vaguely crossed James’ mind that somewhere along the way they’d lost the flowers. But it was Orla’s reaction that he had bought them for. And he had the image of her burying her face in the bouquet burned into the back of his mind; the small smile playing on her lips, her bright eyes almost glowing with happiness.

“You sure you don’t want one?” she said, holding up the packet of cigarettes in her hand.

“I’ll have some of yours,” he shrugged, lazily holding out of his hand so she could take the cigarette out from between her lips.

“You owe me,” she mumbled, pushing herself off James’ chest so she could turn round to face him. Her eyes had a slightly dazed look to them now, no doubt because of the alcohol. James’ fuzzy head felt like it matched the expression on her face.

“Sure, I’ll get you whatever you like.”

“Anything?”

“Anything.”

Orla worried her lips together like she was thinking hard before she giggled quietly, her hand reaching up to cover her mouth. James took a long drag of the cigarette, and was about to ask her what she wanted just when she spoke.

“How about a kiss?” she said, the giggle in her throat turning into a full burst of laughter.

James laughed too, at what he could only assume was a joke.

“You what?”

Orla didn’t answer. Instead she stumbled forwards and before James could really realise what was going on, her mouth was pressed against his. James was too surprised to respond, only managing a somewhat startled noise from the back of his throat. The first coherent thought he formed was that her lips were soft and she tasted of vodka and nicotine. And then she was gone.

James opened his eyes to see Orla scrambling by her feet to pick up her bag. The confusion that had appeared when she’d kissed him only multiplied.

“I’m sorry James, I’m…” she muttered, distractedly glancing around, “I shouldn’t have done that.”

“No it’s okay Orla it’s-,” he said, trying to reach out to touch her shoulder, but she moved out of his reach.

“It’s not, it’s not okay.”

“It is, listen, it’s fine.”

But Orla had already begun to move through the crowded terrace and back into the bar. James tried to follow, but fighting against the flow of people and without her signature curly hair it was hard to keep track of her.

“Orla!” he called out, but her face didn’t appear.

He stumbled out the door into the mild spring night, looking left and right to see if he could spot her amongst the many faces and bodies that surrounded him.

“Orla!” he shouted again, and this time he spotted her.

At the bus stop, one foot already poised to jump onto the red double-decker idling on the side of the road. Her eyes locked with James’, and he couldn’t tell what she was thinking. So often she was an open book, but right now she was closed off to him. She quickly glanced away and the doors shut closed behind her.


	6. and the view's so nice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another long chapter coming at you (i think from this point they're going to stay around this length i.e. between 2k - 3k words). i hope it's somewhat satisfactory after the ending of the last one which was a little bit cliff-hanger-y.
> 
> i've also started to give the chapters names rather than just numbering them because i find it fun. this chapter title comes from the song 'for tomorrow' by blur from the line;  
> ''let's take a drive to primrose hill/it's windy there, and the view's so nice."  
> nice little bit of appropriate 90s pop culture referencing.
> 
> also trigger warning for discussions of domestic abuse/violence, nothing too detailed but it's there.

The golden envelope tumbled to the ground in front of James’ feet and he just stared. He hadn’t meant to drop it, but with the full body numbness that had taken hold he didn’t have the energy to pick it back up. So he just glanced at the envelope, the piece of card that he hadn’t even managed to pull all the way out peeking through the torn opening, taunting him, teasing him. There wasn’t enough space in his mind for him to process how he felt about what he’d just read; all he could feel was panic creeping up his spine making it hard to think, to breathe, to do much at all.

He could hear the distant sound of laughter floating in from the kitchen, his flatmates no doubt attempting to cook their dinner. He knew he was in danger of falling into a full scale meltdown if he stayed in his room, and a rational part of his brain knew talking could help but he couldn’t face them. There was nothing about this that should have caused this reaction in him, he doubted they would understand. James knew that probably wasn’t fair, but he didn’t care.

Leaving the envelope lying on the bedroom floor he pulled on a jacket he probably didn’t need for a June day, even in England. And he started to walk with absolutely no idea where he was going. After popping into a corner shop for a packet of cigarettes and a lighter he definitely didn’t need but badly wanted, he realised Mile End possibly wasn’t the nicest place to wander around in the early evening. So he hopped on the tube with no destination in mind. He caught one or two odd glances from strangers and wondered whether he looked like a man on the edge, because he certainly felt like it. Torn between yelling and crying and unsure why he wanted to do either.

He changed at Bank and caught the Northern line to High Barnet. And that’s when he realised he knew exactly where he wanted to go. He lit another cigarette when he got off the train at Mornington Crescent and placed it between his lips as he began to trudge slowly up Hampstead Road.  The cigarette had almost entirely burnt out by the time he reached the blue door.

There was a moment when he thought he’d lost it a little. He hadn’t spoken to Orla in weeks, convinced that she didn’t want to see him. If her last speedy goodbye had been anything to go by, he was sure he was correct. It was easier not to think about what had happened the last time he’d seen her. Mostly because he couldn’t make sense of it at all, and he didn’t like thinking about the way she’d looked at him when she’d flinched, trying to get out of his reach.

But she was the only person he could think of that wouldn’t tease him about this. Even though she wouldn’t understand, at least she might pretend to.

He pressed the buzzer and he waited. Dropping the cigarette to the floor so he could crush it beneath the sole of his trainer until it was just ash, he heard the sound of someone thundering down the stairs from beyond the door.

But the person behind the door wasn’t Orla, it was her flatmate Sarah.

“Oh, uh, James,” she looked surprised to see him, or maybe it was just the fact that he looked like shit.

“Hi, uh, is Orla in?” he asked, all too aware that his voice came out sounding uneven and wobbly.

“Yeah she is, do you want to come in?”

“Actually, could you just get her for me?”

“Um…okay,” Sarah eyed him with wary eyes, but she didn’t question him. Clearly she thought it better not to ask. James watched her fluffy pink slippers walk back up the stairs and lit another cigarette in the thirty seconds or so he waited to hear footsteps reappearing. Sarah must have told Orla it was him because she had a sheepish look on her face as she descended the stairs. But the expression on her face shifted as James came into her line of sight, her eyes flickering from his face to the cigarette in his hand and back to his face. Her footsteps faltered and she stopped a few steps from the bottom.

“James?” she asked quietly, then she seemed to remember herself and walked the final few steps towards him, “Are you okay?”

James nodded reflexively.

“Did you want to come up?” she asked, not coming closer than a few feet away from him.

“I was actually going to ask if you wanted to come for a walk?”

To her credit, Orla didn’t frown at him, or ask him what on earth was wrong with him. She seemed to sense that this wasn’t the time to ask questions.

“Alright.”

She shut the door behind the two of them and a for a few seconds both of them stood on the step, neither sure whether they should say or do anything. Orla was staring at him like if she looked long and hard enough then she could work out what James was thinking and then she wouldn’t have to ask. James wished she could, because if she was to ask him what was wrong, he wouldn’t know how to answer. Shaking her head slightly Orla glanced down breaking the eye contact.

“Can I have one?” she asked, pointing to the cigarette in his hand.

“Sure,” he croaked, his voice somehow hoarser than it had been a few seconds ago.

He fished the packet of his pocket and handed one to her. Once she had it pressed between her lips James leant in with the lighter, trying hard to focus on lighting the end of the cigarette but it was harder now he realised his hands were shaking. Though he couldn’t have said why.

Then they set off. Walking in perfect silence, side by side along the streets of London and it was exactly what James needed in that moment. To not be alone, but to not have to speak. He could see Orla glancing at him every so often, but she never said anything, like she was waiting for James to make the first move. Though he could tell inside she was dying to know what was going on.

The existential panic had faded by the time the two of them reached Regent’s Park and now it was just a dull ache sitting in the back of James’ head. Now he could begin to think a little more clearly. He steered them away from the zoo and instead the two of them slowly began to walk up Primrose Hill. The sun was getting low in the sky, casting an orange glare into their eyes, and Orla finally seemed unable to hold it in anymore.

“James will you please tell me what’s bothering you?” she asked, sounding a little desperate, “You’re scaring me.”

Her gentle admission made James’ heart sink with guilt. Though he knew she meant nothing by it. It was only the truth. He was sure Orla didn’t know how to be manipulative, even if she wanted to. And she wouldn’t.

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

“Just tell me,” she repeated herself and out of the corner of his eye she saw her reach out like she was going to grab his hand, but she thought better of it and pulled her own hand away.

James took a deep breath.

“My mum’s getting married,” he finally said.

“Oh!” Orla didn’t try hide her surprise, “Oh that’s…that’s, well, I don’t really know what that is.”

She looked up at him.

“It’s not a good thing is it?” she asked, clearly able to see as much from his face.

“It should be,” James’ voice cracked as he spoke, “I don’t know.”

“What are you thinking?”

“I think…I feel like she’s leaving me again.”

“Ach James,” Orla finally closed the distance between them and put her hand on James’ shoulder.

“Can we sit down?” he asked.

Keeping her hand on his shoulder, the two of them moved over to the set of benches on top of the hill. Only one other was occupied by an elderly woman and her dog sniffing the ground around her feet. James slumped down onto the bench and he could feel Orla sit down beside him, her body turned towards him, but he kept his eyes on the skyline in front of him, bathed in the evening sun. He was struck by the choking feeling that he was going to cry, and he knew if he looked at her and saw the concern and pity on her face then it would be harder to hold it in.

“Sorry I’m being ridiculous,” he muttered. He tried counting the buildings in front of him, the skyscrapers that glinted when the light reflected off them, the white dome of St Paul’s, the tall thin shape of the BT Tower, but it wasn’t enough to stop the racing thoughts in his mind. His head was full of things he’d never really thought about before, let alone said aloud.

“No you’re not,” Orla said quietly as James switched his gaze to the green grass beneath him, “And she’s not leaving. Not like before.”

“But she is, this is what always happens. Even when I was a kid, she’d find some new guy and suddenly she’d be out all night, she wouldn’t be there to get me up for school, she wouldn’t drop me off the gates like all the other parents did. She…God, she just wasn’t there. Even though she was around, she wasn’t _there_ you know?” the frustration bubbled up inside of James until it came pouring out in words he wasn’t even sure made sense. He could see Orla watching him warily, an expression on her face that didn’t give away an awful lot but he knew she was listening. Right now, it seemed like she just wanted to let him talk.

“She’s…I know she loves me. When it’s just the two of us, I know it, I can see it. But it’s like when she left me in Derry right? I hated it, I wanted to come home with her, and I didn’t believe it when Aunt Deirdre and Michelle told me I’d be better off without her.

But they were right, it was better there. I had them, and Mr and Mrs Quinn, and even Granda Joe, and you girls. Suddenly there were people around, all the time. I realised that’s what family was supposed to be, they were supposed to be there for you, always, no matter what. And I thought…I thought if I came back with her this time it would be different. It was just supposed to be me and her.

But then she met this guy and suddenly we’re moving and I’m in some weird house I don’t want to live in with people I don’t want to live with. And I was back to being priority number two. It didn’t change, things don’t change, she’s not…she’s never going to just _care_. Not when she has herself to think about.”

James dropped his head, letting it hang low feeling as defeated as he looked. Orla still didn’t say anything, like she could tell he had more on his mind.

“Michelle was right. She’s leaving again. I mean, I guess I already left home so I shouldn’t be too mad. But it feels like this is for real this time. Like all her chances to be my mum have gone.”

He felt a hand on his back, warm and strong, and then he felt Orla rest her head on his shoulder, her face pressed into the denim of his jacket. There was something grounding about the gesture that went beyond comfort, like she was reminding him that they were stuck together, that he didn’t have a choice but to have her in his life.

“You’re so lucky Orla. You have the most amazing family in the world,” he whispered allowing himself a single tear that burned as it slid down his face, and he promised himself it would be the only one he’d cry over this.

“It’s not perfect,” she whispered, and James felt her turn her head so her mouth wasn’t covered, “Did Erin ever tell you about my Dad?”

James shook his head.

“No, she didn’t.”

Orla sighed, a weighty sound James had never heard come out of her mouth before. Blindly she reached for his hand and James could tell that she wasn’t giving comfort to him this time, but rather asking for it in return. Of course he’d noticed that Orla’s dad wasn’t around, but he’d never really stopped to think why that was. As someone whose own father was out of the picture, it didn’t really strike him as too odd.

“I didn’t know the whole story till a couple of years ago. He left when I was just a wain you see. But I do remember them keeping me up at night sometimes with the fighting, I’d sit up in bed with me head under the covers and just hope it would stop. It always would eventually and Mammy would come in and sit with me until I fell asleep. Sometimes she was crying, but I don’t think I ever knew why, or that she shouldn’t be. Then I remember Mammy taking me to Aunt Mary’s and I had to share a room with Erin and I liked that better because then I never had to be alone at night, and there wasn’t no fighting anymore,” Orla spoke slowly and deliberately, as though she was reading aloud. James wondered if she’d ever said this before, whether she’d told Michelle and Clare, or whether it was just because she’d played the story over in her head so many times.

“Mammy came a few weeks later, and I remember there being papers everywhere, all over the living room and the kitchen. I remember her and Aunt Mary sitting up reading it for hours at night. I’d come down and sit on the stairs and the kitchen light would still be on and I could hear them talking, but Erin would always drag me back to bed ‘cause she was scared I’d get into trouble.

I only saw him once more after that. He came to the house, I can remember seeing him at the living room window, I dunno if he came to the door or whatever. I don’t remember it that well. But I know he didn’t come back after that, Aunt Mary told me so. All she told me was that he wasn’t a nice man, and that he was gone away and he wasn’t ever coming back.

I can’t remember if he was nice to me or not. But I asked Mammy about him a couple years ago, I just wanted to know, I didn’t get why it had all happened. And she told me he wasn’t nice at all to her. Used to hit her and stuff, yell at her, screaming, that sort of thing. He broke her wrist one time, pushed her down the stairs-,”

“Jesus,” James couldn’t help but say in a low hushed tone. Just hearing it made him feel sick.

“She wouldn’t tell me if he did that sort of stuff to me. If he did I don’t remember. I don’t even remember what he looks like, I don’t remember much about him at all really. I remember what he sounded like though, that’s all I do.”

“Orla that’s…I’m so sorry,” James knew it didn’t change anything, but he had to say it. He didn’t think he knew a pair of people in the world who were sweeter or kinder than Orla and her mum. No one deserved something like that, but especially them.

“It’s not your fault. And anyway, like I said, I don’t remember. I lived with him for a lot less time than I lived in Aunt Mary and Uncle Gerry’s house, and it’s grand there. They’re my real family, not him.”

She cleared her throat, and James thought he could hear her sniff slightly.

“Anyway, my point is, families can be pretty shit. We don’t get to choose who are parents are, and sometimes they don’t love us, or they’re not meant to be parents, or whatever. And even if you don’t have your mum James, you still have family. I don’t need my dad, and you don’t need your mum if you don’t want her.”

“Thank you Orla,” James said, “Thank you for telling me that.”

“ Aye, well I trust you,” she said as though it was a simple fact of life.

James turned his head so he could look at her, finally feeling like he was able to cope with it. She wasn’t looking at him anymore, but off into the distance as he had been. But he didn’t think she was looking at the buildings or the roads or the bridges over the river Thames, but up at the sky, to the pinks and the oranges and the reds and golds that were reflected in her eyes.

“Mind you,” she said, sitting up as the thought had physically struck her, “What about your dad?”

“What about him?” he asked, caught off guard at the sudden change of topic.

“Do you know who he is?”

“No I…I don’t have a clue. Mum came to England before I was born, and he didn’t come with her.”

“So he’s still in Derry?”

“I suppose so, maybe.”

Orla didn’t say anything more, all she did was let go of James’ hand and dust herself off as she stood up.

“Come on, let’s go back to my place, I reckon we could both use a drink,” she smiled at him and James felt like a piece of their friendship that had come loose had been slotted back into place. The kiss in the bar didn’t matter, the awkwardness that had followed didn’t either.

“Sounds like a plan,” James stood up as well, and had to resist the urge to take her hand again. It was still a lot to process; his mother’s news, and what Orla had told him. But he felt like he could cope a little better now.

“We’ll stop at the offie on the way back, they do this cracker bottle of wine for like three quid, it’s lethal,” Orla grinned as they began the descent back down the hill.

It was almost difficult for James to reconcile the girl he was looking at and the story she’d told him. He couldn’t believe anyone would dare scare her, or hurt her, he could barely even believe someone couldn’t love her. These thoughts came tumbling out his mouth;

“You’re one of the best people I know Orla,” he said, rather suddenly, “Really, you are.”

Orla didn’t have that abashed but pleased look on her face that she usually did when James complimented her. Instead she gave him a tight smile before quickly looking away, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip like she had to physically stop herself from saying something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the inspiration for the explanation of the absence of orla's dad comes from this tumblr post https://lannisteroftarth.tumblr.com/post/184266609143/orlas-dad-was-abusive-hear-me-out  
> it's one of the darker headcanons about it, but it makes a lot of sense to me.


	7. homecoming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you again for reading and leaving all the kudos, they are, as well as comments, always appreciated.

“James it’s for you!”

The muffled sounds cut through James’ barely conscious brain. It couldn’t have been later than eight o’clock on a Monday morning. James had finally finished the last of his exams the previous Friday and he felt like he was still sleeping off his hangover from the end-of-term celebrations. He had been hoping he could stay in the flat, lying in his bed and ignoring the responsibilities of the real world until he ran out of money and had to go out looking for a summer job. But whoever was banging on his bedroom door had other ideas.

“James! For fuck’s sake!” even with the pillow pressed down over his head, he could hear Jake’s voice clearly enough.

“Coming,” James mumbled, dragging himself out of bed, bleary-eyed and with the worst case of bed hair he’d ever had. Jake didn’t seem like he cared about that, or the fact that James was only wearing a scratty old t-shirt and boxers. He looked much too grumpy for that, so James guessed he’d been woken up too.

“What is it?” James asked.

“Phone. Living room,” Jake grumbled before he turned around and walked right back into his bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

The only person who ever called James was his mother, and it was definitely too early to be having a conversation with her. Especially since he was yet to reply to the wedding invitation that was sitting in the waste paper basket under his desk. But he couldn’t ignore it. Especially if he was the reason the entire flat was awake.

The telephone next to the TV wasn’t ringing when James entered the living room, but he saw the handset was off the stand so clearly his mother was waiting on the other end of the line. James picked up the handset and took a deep breath before he pressed it to his ear.

“Hi Mum.”

A soft giggle came through the headset, distorted by the static on the line.

“Your Mammy? I don’t think so James.”

“Oh! Orla,” James felt himself blushing when he realised his mistake. She’d never called him before. Though James remembered telling her the number of the telephone in his flat when she’d bought an address book from a charity shop and got very excited about filling in the pages.

“I can hang up if you need to call her,” Orla said.

“No, no, that’s alright. What do you need?”

“I wanted to ask you a favour,” he could tell Orla was already injecting a little of her sweet charm into her voice, and James could almost picture her batting her eyelashes comically and twirling her hair. James didn’t want to know what caper she wanted to drag him on this early in the morning, and he steeled himself for something suitably out of the box.

“Oh yeah?”

“Come to Derry.”

James almost dropped the phone.

“What?”

“Come to Derry with me.”

“Wh-…what are you…When?”

“I leave this afternoon.”

“Orla!”

Inexplicably, Orla laughed. James thought it sounded absurd not funny.

“Are you playing a joke on me?” James had to ask.

“No I’m not,” Orla actually sounded a little affronted, “Do you want to come with me?”

“Orla I can’t just…why do you want me to come?”

“Lots of reasons. But I think you want to come.”

James sighed, mostly because she was right. The thought of going to Derry both terrified and excited him in equal measure. He had come to terms with the fact that he was always going to miss that place, so of course he wanted to go back. But going back no doubt meant seeing people and places he’d unceremoniously left behind. And that would hurt. And that was without even entertaining the prospect of seeing the rest of the girls. He couldn’t dare to hope that they would all take him back as kindly as Orla had. In fact, he very much doubted they would.

“I’m right, aren’t I?” Orla said after a few moments of silence on James’ part.

“Sort of,” James mumbled.

“Look you can stay with me, I’ll share with Erin, you can have my room. It’ll be grand.”

“What are the other reasons you want me to come?” James asked.

“I’ll tell you later, when we’re on the plane to Belfast,” Orla dodged the question with ease, and James was pretty sure it was the only time she’d never given him a truthful answer.

“Orla…”

“Please James, please.”

“I don’t even have a ticket. It’ll be too expensive I can’t.”

“I already bought you a ticket.”

“Orla!”

“I got it when I got mine, it’s cheap. You can pay me back.”

“Orla, when did you buy it?”

“Three weeks ago. It was no bother.”

“Orla!”

“You’ll never forget my name if you keep saying it all the time.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I know.”

James didn’t say anything for a few seconds so Orla spoke again.

“Is that a yes?”

“…Yes.”

“Yay!”

James was pretty sure all of this qualified as him being certifiably insane. And he was sure it wasn’t going to end well. But at least Orla sounded happy.

“I’ll come over to yours, I’m all packed and stuff.”

“Okay, um, do you need me to tell you the address?”

“No I’ve got it. I’ll see you soon.”

Then she hung up. And James was left holding the phone and wondering what on earth he was doing.

“Going somewhere?” a voice piped up from behind him and this time James actually did drop the phone.

“Fucking hell,” James swore, clutching his chest and turning round to see Guy sat at the kitchen table nursing a mug of coffee. He must have been there the whole time but James just hadn’t noticed when he’d walked in. Probably because he was only just beginning to feel like he was awake.

“So I’m guessing Linda Evangelista’s name is Orla?” he asked, smugly raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah it is.”

“She’s coming over?”

“We’re uh…yeah she is. Just to pick me up.”

“Pick you up?” James did not like how the expression on Guy’s face kept getting more and more self-satisfied.

“Yes.”

“Can’t wait to meet your girlfriend then,” Guy said, draining the last of his coffee from the mug.

“She’s not staying, and she’s not my girlfriend. We’re just friends.”

“ _I’m_ just your friend, she’s definitely not.”

“No. _You’re_ just a twat,” James snapped grumpily, but it only made Guy laugh. James had a hard time getting his friends to take him seriously when he was annoyed at him. He pouted and walked over to the pot of coffee brewing on the kitchen side, “I’m stealing your coffee.”

“Be my guest.”

Once James had come to terms with the fact that he was catching a flight to Derry that afternoon he realised that he really ought to pack. He hadn’t even thought to ask Orla how long they were going for, or how long he was staying. In the end he emptied most of the contents of his underwear drawer and packed every pair of jeans he owned. He was fresh out of the shower when he heard the buzzer ringing.

Haphazardly pulling a t-shirt on James near enough sprinted to the telephone by the door before one of his flatmates could get there before him.

“Orla?”

“James! Let me up?”

“One second,” James pressed the button with a key carved into it and he could hear Orla opening the front door through the telephone. He decided to wait by the door until she got there as he was all too aware of Harry popping his head out of his bedroom door, looking nosily down the hall.

“Fuck off,” James grumbled over his shoulder.

“Suit yourself,” Harry laughed but he did shut his door.

There was a light knock at the door and James opened it instantly. Orla looked a little surprised to see him answer so quickly.

“Fast,” she said with her eyebrows raised, and she reached behind her for the handle of her suitcase which looked heavy and bulky, “Are you packed?”

“Uh yeah I am, well almost. Do you want me to help you with that?”

“Nah it’s no bother, which one’s your room?”

“Um this way.”

James lead her to his bedroom which thankfully wasn’t too far from the door when he saw how Orla was struggling with her suitcase as she dragged it along behind her. He suddenly found himself wishing he’d made more of an effort to tidy up with Ola coming. But he hadn’t really had the time. Orla didn’t seem to mind though; she was too busy looking at the textbooks on his desk.

“These look complicated,” she said, flipping through the pages.

“They are.”

“You need help finishing packing?”

“No, no I’m good. I just need to pack my toiletries.”

Orla sat on the end of his bed and watched James as he ferried his things back and forth from the bathroom. As he stood in front of the bathroom mirror, brushing his teeth before he packed his toothbrush and toothpaste he wondered why he’d never invited her over before. They just always seemed to hang out at her flat, or meet somewhere in the middle. James thought it was probably because he didn’t trust his flatmates not to do anything stupid. Rinsing out his mouth James shoved the last of his things into his toiletry bag and headed back into his room.

“That’s the last of-,” he started to say, but stopped short when he saw that Orla wasn’t sat on his bed anymore. There was an indentation on the blanket where she had been, but no sign of her.

“Orla?” he called out tentatively.

There was no reply. James put his toiletry bag in the top of his suitcase and he was zipping it shut when he heard the sound of laughter from the kitchen. Groaning internally, James placed his suitcase next to Orla’s and made his way to the kitchen. When he was just outside the door he was sure Orla was in there.

Her deep laughter floated from the other side of the door, and James heard the answering voice from his flatmate.

“James!” Orla smiled as he came in the room, “You done?”

“Um yeah I am,” James said, distractedly looking at Guy who was smiling in a way he didn’t like at all.

“Tea, James?” Guy said, motioning at the kettle.

“No I’m good thanks.”

“I’ll just finish mine and then we can go,” Orla said taking a sip from her mug. James recognised it as one of his own, and he was sure that was no mistake, “Guy was just telling me about your karaoke skills.”

“That was one time,” James muttered throwing a glare Guy’s way.

“He said you were very good.”

“He was also very drunk,” Guy laughed, clearly replaying the memory in his head. Orla giggled too and James wondered how much Guy had told her. He watched as Guy placed his hand on Orla’s shoulder, leaning in a little closer as they both laughed together. It was abundantly clear that Guy was flirting with her. And James wasn’t sure if Orla was flirting back but he found he didn’t want to think about that too much. A fleeting memory of soft lips that tasted of alcohol and nicotine flashed through James’ mind, but he closed his eyes and tried to shake it off.

“We should get going,” James said, suddenly very eager to get out the room.

“We won’t be late.”

“Still, it can’t hurt to be on the safe side.”

“Alright, alright,” Orla said sharing a look with Guy, but still quickly downing the last of her tea, “Thank you for the tea.”

“No problem. Don’t let James keep you hidden away next time.”

Orla just smiled before she led James from the kitchen.

“He’s nice,” she said as they both collected their suitcases. James just grunted, preferring not to talk about Guy, or any of his other flatmates. Orla didn’t seem to think his silence should stop them having a conversation, “He thinks I’m your girlfriend.”

“Yeah I…sorry, he won’t drop it,” James said, feeling embarrassed but not sure exactly why he was.

“It’s okay, I know I’m not.”

James glanced at Orla but he couldn’t see her face. In fact, she was deliberately keeping her face turned away from him. The embarrassment, and whatever feeling had emerged when he’d seen Orla with Guy, just intensified in the put of his stomach. He thought about asking her if she was alright, but he didn’t think that was what she wanted. The temporary awkward silence was broken when Orla spun around and pointed at James’ chest.

“You got your passport?” she asked suddenly.

“Yes, yeah, of course.”

“Good. I forgot the first time I flew over, and Granda had to drive all the way back home to get it for me.”

She spun back around and marched her way out of the front door leaving James hurrying behind her.

In the end it was a close-run thing to get to the airport on time. Orla seemed to have underestimated how long it would take them to get across London and all the way out to Heathrow. They arrived with less than an hour until their plane left which forced them to talk their way into skipping the security line and literally run through the terminal building to get to their gate. When they made it to their seats James was thoroughly out of breath and he wasn’t sure why Orla was laughing so much.

“It’s not funny! We almost missed the flight!” he said, clutching his chest.

“But we didn’t,” Orla laughed tightening the seatbelt across her lap. James watched her enthusiastically accept the in-flight magazine from the flight attendant and flip through it at lightning speed, stopping to point out photos to James every few pages. He would have thought it was Orla’s first time flying from the rapt way she listened to the safety demonstration, which led James to amuse himself imagining what her first time flying would have actually been like.

“How are we actually getting to Derry from Belfast?” James asked, a few minutes after they had taken off and got into the air. Orla turned away from the window she had practically been glued to since they’d been airborne.

“A bus, then a train, then another bus.”

“Geez.”

“It was the cheapest way; it’ll take a while.”

Orla turned back towards the window, watching as the sprawling landscape of London got smaller and smaller beneath them. There was a spike of anxiety in the pit of James’ stomach when it hit home again exactly what he was doing. It was crazy, it was something he’d fantasised about but nothing he’d ever seriously considered doing. If he thought for too long about seeing everyone again, even walking up the estate towards the Quinn’s house, he felt his heart rate pick up a little and his palms start to get clammy and hot. He had to try very hard to stop thinking about the awkward moments and force himself to focus on what was going on around him.

“Are you going to tell me what your other reasons for inviting me were?” James asked Orla quietly.

“Oh aye,” Orla paused for a second, clearly weighing up how to say it best, “I thought we could try find your dad.”

“My…Orla I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“He probably doesn’t even know I exist. I don’t want to push myself into someone’s life when they don’t want me there,” James’ already potent anxiety made him more keyed up than usual. In his current state he couldn’t think of anything more stress-inducing than seeking out some man who’d had nothing to do with his life for nineteen years and therefore wouldn’t want anything to do with him now.

“We can just see if we can find him first,” Orla suggested gently.

“I really don’t think that’s a good idea,” James shook his head, “I don’t even think I want to find him.”

“Alright,” Orla said, sounding not at all put out by James’ clear reluctance to go through with her scheme, “Besides that, I think the girls really want to see you.”

“They do?”

“Yeah. I think they’ll be happy to see you.”

“They…said they miss me?” James asked tentatively. It was a question he’d wondered to himself on several occasions. But he was more than a little scared of the answer.

“Not exactly. But I know they do.”

James didn’t think that was the same thing. But if he talked, or even thought, anymore about what the girls’ reactions would be if they saw him he was fairly sure he’d have a heart attack. Luckily, Orla seemed to be done talking.

“I’m gonna nap,” Orla murmured, twisting in her seat so she could curl up and rest her face against the plastic-y leather of the seat.

James didn’t tell her that the flight wouldn’t take much time at all and she probably wouldn’t be very well rested by the time she woke up. He was happier to be left alone with his thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we'll see some familiar faces pop up next chapter.


	8. an unwanted visitor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoy the fact that we got to see some familiar faces return in this chapter!

The bus and train journeys seemed to last a lifetime, no doubt heightened by the fact that they were steadily heading towards a destination that James was dreading. As they boarded the bus from Waterside Railway Station James was struck by the uncontrollable urge to turn back, to pretend that Orla had never suggested this, to run back to his flat in London and resume his old habit of pointedly avoiding thinking about Derry. But that habit had flown out the window when Orla had waltzed back into his life. And he’d grown not to mind. He knew it was a mixture of guilt and fear that was making him think all of these things.

He glanced down at Orla who looked like she was on the verge of falling asleep again, even though the bus journey should only last around twenty minutes. Wishing all this away would mean Orla going away, and all the afternoons they’d spent hanging out, all the evenings in pubs, and bars, and cinemas, and restaurants, all the coffees and laughter they’d shared.

“Try stay awake, it’s not long now,” James said, nudging her in the side.

“I hate when you’re right and I don’t want you to be,” Orla grumbled, rubbing her eyes viciously.

She yawned and stretched her arms out high above her head, narrowly missing smacking James in the face. Looking out the window of the now moving bus she smiled in a dreamy sort of way.

“It’s good to be home.”

“Mhmm,” James made a nervous noise of agreement that was painfully forced.

“Are you okay?” Orla asked, looking at him cautiously.

“Yeah…just nervous,” he admitted. There was no point trying to hide it, he’d never been good at covering up how he really felt.

“It’ll be fine, trust me,” Orla patted his arm, and James trusted her almost implicitly and he wanted to this time. But he wasn’t sure he shared her optimism.

They got off the bus at the bottom of her road, and James was hit by a powerful wave of déjà vu. It may have been years, but nothing had changed, at least not that he could see. The houses and gardens and the street; they all looked the same. And James felt like he was sixteen again, but the feeling of being left behind somewhere far from home was gone. There was so many feelings swirling around in his chest he couldn’t have said what he felt. But he didn’t feel lost.

Orla led the way up the road, pulling her suitcase behind her. James wished, as he had before on more than one occasion, that he had her fearlessness. Instead he was left trailing behind her purposeful stride feeling like he was about to throw up any minute. It felt like he hadn’t had enough time to prepare for this moment as the crushing weight of reality set in. He hadn’t thought about what he was going to say and do. He watched, half in horror, as Orla closed her hand into a fist and knocked on the front door. The few seconds as they both waited for someone to answer the door were the longest of James’ entire life.

The door swung open and for a moment James couldn’t see who had answered. Until a tiny pair of arms and a head of blonde hair attached themselves to Orla’s legs, hugging her tightly.

“Orla!” there was a small cry of excitement. It took James a few seconds to figure out who the child was, before he realised it was Anna, more than twice the age she had been when James had left. He hardly recognised her, no longer a toddler but a child now strong enough to stand on her own two feet and tall enough to reach just above Orla’s knees.

James could tell she didn’t recognise him as she peered round Orla’s legs, eying him with openly hostile suspicion. It had been too long, of course she wouldn’t know who he was, James had expected that but it was still a little upsetting.

“Who’s he?” Anna asked, tilting her head up to look at Orla.

“Oh that’s-,” Orla started but was cut off by a shout from inside the house.

“Anna! What has Mammy said about answering the door by yourself, you know-,” James recognised Erin’s loud voice instantly, yet somehow it still sent a shock through his system when she appeared in the doorway, glancing at Orla for only a second before her eyes immediately met James’. She froze, her words failing her mid-sentence. It would have been almost comical if James hadn’t been so terrified.

“Jesus Christ,” she muttered, almost inaudibly but James could make out the words from the way her mouth moved.

Erin looked at Orla again, then back at James, her mouth opening and closing like a goldfish but no words came out. Anna was the only one of the four of them who said anything, demanding to know what was going on.

“Why is everyone just standing here?” she pouted, tugging on Orla’s sleeve to get her attention. But Orla seemed to be watching her cousin intensely, waiting to see what she would say. James knew she wouldn’t have told Erin that he was coming. She probably hadn’t told anyone.

“Hi,” James eventually blurted out, feeling like he had to say something. Erin’s eyes widened when he spoke, like he hadn’t really been sure he wasn’t a ghost until that moment.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, still sounding overwhelmed by disbelief. James didn’t know what he was supposed to say, and Orla didn’t answer either.

Finally getting fed up with their lack of attention and explanation for her Anna stomped back inside the house yelling as she went;

“Orla’s back and she’s brought some English man with her!”

James didn’t know who else was inside the house but he didn’t have to wait long to find out.

“English fella? Anna what’re you on?” the unmistakable voice of James’ cousin floated out from inside the house, and a few seconds later Michelle appeared beside Erin. She looked equally surprised to see James stood behind Orla, but after the initial shock set in it was joined by a blaze of anger lighting up her eyes.

“Oh I don’t fucking think so,” Michelle growled and James didn’t realise she was marching towards him until she had the front of his t-shirt gathered in his fist and was pulling him towards her so they were nose to nose. Erin and Orla must have been slow on the uptake too because neither of them reacted until Michelle had pushed her way past both of them. For a second James thought Michelle was actually going to punch him in the face and he didn’t doubt that she could do him some serious damage if she wanted to.

“Think you can just show your face here like nothing happened?” she spat, all the venom she could muster injected into her words, “What’re you playing at?”

“Michelle!” Erin exclaimed, sounding and looking scandalised at her friend’s reaction. Both her and Orla reached for Michelle, trying to pull her off James who was too shell-shocked to react.

“And you!” Michelle carried on undeterred as she span around, keeping her hold on James but now facing Orla who dodged her flailing arm, “You think you can drag him back here and we’ll all be best friends again. Wise up would you? He _left_ remember? He chose to leave.”

“Michelle let go of him,” Erin said trying to introduce some calm into the situation. Orla seemed to have been stunned into silence by Michelle’s rant, her face was pale and she took a step back, glancing at James for just a second, like she was finally beginning to think it was a bad idea to bring him home.

Michelle ignored Erin’s peacekeeping attempt.

“Why are you even here? I thought you were too good for us,” Michelle turned back to James her face still full of fire and fury. If James had doubted how hurt she had been, he didn’t anymore.

“Michelle I’m sorry, I-,” but James wasn’t allowed to finish his weak apology.

“She fucked you over again didn’t she?” Michelle asked with a smugness to her spiteful tone, “Is that why you’re back here? Did Mummy skip town on you again?”

“Michelle!” it was Orla this time, looking shocked and angrier than James had ever seen her before. She wasn’t someone who ever really got angry, but she looked it when she grabbed Michelle’s wrist and forcibly wrenched it away so she let go of James’ shirt.

“You know what? Fuck this,” Michelle growled, pushing Orla aside so she could march up the garden path, hurrying down the road without looking back.

“Michelle! Michelle come back!” Erin called but her friend was out of earshot by the time she gathered her wits enough to call her name.

The three of them stood in the front garden, all staring at Michelle’s retreating back. A sense of shock settling around them as they all tried to process what had just happened. Orla was still clutching her upper arm where Michelle had pushed her, the anger that had been there for a brief moment was gone, and now she just looked upset. James hated to see her so disappointed that things hadn’t gone as she’d imagined, even though he had seen it coming, he didn’t want to be right. Erin was the first to snap out of their collective silence.

“Come inside you two, people are starting to look. I’ll call Mammy,” Erin said, glancing at the houses of the windows across the street where sure enough, people were looking out, trying to see what the commotion had been. James knew that in a city like Derry it would only take a matter of hours before everyone knew that Kathy Maguire’s son was back again. Erin clearly wanted answers about why James was there, but at least she hadn’t turned on him the second she’d seen him. Anna, who was sat in front of the TV when they all trudged inside, was also desperate to be let into the loop.

The three of them sat awkwardly in the living room and it was left to Orla to explain to her cousin how she’d met James in London and how they’d managed to become friends again. She avoided saying exactly why she had invited him back with her, skirting around the topic of James’ dad and trying not to make it seem like James had tagged along uninvited. Her explanation, with its many tangents and diversions, didn’t seem to satisfy Erin. Who kept glancing between the two of them like she there was something more she wasn’t being told. James kept quiet the entire time, seeming to understand that Erin wasn’t at the same stage Orla had been. She wasn’t ready to welcome him back with open arms without good reason. Most of all she seemed to want to hear from James himself exactly why he’d left, but that was a conversation for another time. It had been a long day and a bone-deep exhaustion had settled over James. As much as part of him had expected Michelle’s reaction, it still stung.

James was saved from an interrogation by the arrival of Mrs Quinn, who, to his surprise, looked rather happy to find him sat in her living room.

“Oh look at you, you poor critter,” she said when he joined her in the kitchen to help make a tray of tea for everyone. And she surprised him even further by pulling him into a tight hug. Maybe Erin had told her about what had happened with Michelle, but he’d always suspected Mrs Quinn had a soft spot for him. It was probably born out of pity, but he found he didn’t care where the sympathy came from in that moment. He hugged her back, grateful that, if only for a moment, he was allowed to feel like a child again.

He let Orla repeat her story again and again that night, first to Mrs Quinn, then Gerry, then her own mother and Granddad. James was heading up to sleep in Orla’s room that had been set up for him when he heard Orla on the phone to Clare, instructed by Erin to keep her updated too. He was too exhausted to stick around to hear the story for a sixth time. More than anything he wanted to curl up in bed and forget about what a long and disastrous day it had been. He could deal with it all tomorrow.

Orla’s bedroom was much like her room in her flat, only emptier and less lived in. James found himself staring at the photos that were still stuck to the wall beside the bed, studying the faces and places when he couldn’t sleep. Most were older photos, of Orla and Erin as children; playing on a set of swings, eating ice creams on the beach, and stood in front of the tree at Christmas. If he followed the photos along as they got older Clare and Michelle began to show up more often, first as chubby-cheeked children then as awkward teenagers. The photo of Orla and Granddad Joe at prom teased a smile out from James as he looked at her smiling in her Easter dress, clutching a flower to her chest. Stuck in between the photos were scraps of paper covered in drawings and doodles Orla had done herself, her scrawled signature at the bottom of each. There was only one photo of himself up there, the five of them stood in the living room of the Quinn’s house, their knock-off American flags from Dennis’ draped around their shoulders. A photo from the day he’d left. James studied his own static face on the glossy photo, wondering if it was possible to see that he’d already made his decision, that he knew he was leaving that day. But nothing about the photo made it possible to tell that their group was only hours from being torn apart.

“James?” Orla’s soft voice was accompanied by the sound of the door creaking open, “You awake?”

“Yeah I am,” it was way past midnight, James having been lying awake for a few hours by that point.

“Can I come in?” Orla asked, though she was already inside the room and shutting the door behind her. James’ instincts earlier had been to ask to be left alone, but that was only letting the poisonous thoughts to cloud his mind. What he needed was some company, and he was glad Orla was saving him from having to ask.

“Of course.”

In the low light of the bedside lamp James could see that she had changed into striped pyjamas that were a few inches too short on the leg and the arms. Her curly hair was tied at the nape of her neck, pulling it out of her face, making her seem younger than she usually did. James sat up as she pulled the duvet back and slipped in beside him. He had been expecting her to sit on the bed not climb in with him, but he had long learnt not to question most of the things Orla did.

“I’m sorry about earlier,” she whispered, leaning on her elbow so she could prop her head up. James mirrored her pose and shimmied down the bed so they were face to face. The single bed was probably a little too small for both of them, but James found he didn’t mind too much.

“It’s alright,” he replied automatically.

“I didn’t think Michelle would be so angry.”

“She’s allowed to be.”

“Still, I am sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” he said, before trying to bring some optimism to the conversation, “At least Erin doesn’t seem too mad at me.”

“Clare isn’t either,” Orla added, “They’ll listen.”

Yet somehow it was his cousin’s forgiveness that James wanted above theirs.

“Michelle was right,” Orla said after a few seconds of silence, turning to lie on her back like she had every intention of staying.

“About…?” James had to ask. Michelle had made a few valid points, about his mum fucking him over again, about him possibly thinking he was too good for Derry.

“About me thinking I could just bring you back here and everything would go back to the way it’s supposed to be.”

“Orla…” James said softly, trying to comfort her but not sure how to. Orla shuffled closer, resting her head on James’ chest, curling her warm body up against his. Instinctively James cradled the back of her head, holding her close.

“Things are never going back to how they were.”

“That might not be the worst thing in the world,” James whispered into her hair, unsure whether she could hear him. If she could, she didn’t respond. He felt Orla reach over and turn out the beside light, plunging the room into darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a few more characters return in the next chapter too.


	9. what's in a look?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more returning characters!! i hope you enjoy :)
> 
> thanks once again for everyone who's still reading this and leaving kudos and comments, j't'aime.

“What is going on in here?!”

The outraged yell and the accompanying bang of the door opening startled James awake, scaring him half to death. As he jolted, so rudely awoken, James felt his leg slip off the side of the tiny bed and the rest of him followed seconds later, dragging the duvet with him.

“James!” this time it was Orla who shouted, sitting up and looking incredibly confused as to why he was lying in a heap on the floor. She pushed some loose strands of hair out of her face as she stared at him, her expression suddenly turning from bewildered to amused.

“James, what’re you doing on the floor?” Orla laughed, “You took all the covers.”

“What is he doing _in your bed_ more like?!” Erin’s voice had turned from outraged to scandalised. James finally looked at her, standing in the doorway, an expression on her face that made it seem like she was looking at the most disgusting thing she’d ever seen. Orla glanced up, like she hadn’t noticed she’d been there before.

“Morning Erin. He’s taking my bed, that’s what we agreed remember?”

While Orla seemed oblivious to the implications of what her cousin had just walked in on, it was all becoming clear to James. Blushing, but trying not to, James untangled his legs from the sheets racking his mind to come up with an explanation. Nothing less than innocent had happened but he knew Erin hadn’t seen it that way. So somehow he didn’t think the truth would do.

“Yes. But why are you in here with him?” Erin said stomping over to the window so she could yank open the curtains.

“Jesus,” James muttered, squinting as the sunlight came bursting into the room.

“Explain. Now,” Erin snapped, rounding on the two of them, her finger pointed. Orla was still giggling to herself, clearly finding her cousin’s indignation funny rather than potentially humiliating.

James and Orla were saved from having to explain themselves for the moment by the sound of heavy footsteps coming up the stairs and a deep voice calling;

“Erin! What was that noise? Your mam told me to check everything’s okay.”

A figure appeared at the door, tall and broad-shouldered, although James was still bleary-eyed and half asleep he could tell it wasn’t Erin’s dad or granddad. And when he saw the way Erin’s eyes lit up when she turned to look at him, he knew this wasn’t anyone she was related to.

“It’s fine Dee,” Erin muttered, looking very much like it wasn’t fine at all. The name sounded vaguely familiar to James, but he couldn’t remember where he knew it from.

“Morning Orla,” the guy, Dee, nodded at where she was sat on the bed before looking at James who was still sprawled on the floor, “And James isn’t it? Yeah, I think I remember you.”

“Oh!” James exclaimed when it all clicked in his head. Dee was one of the Protestant lads from the ‘Friends Across the Barricade’ trip they’d been sent on the summer before James had left. He was almost tempted to laugh when he imagined how on earth that had happened and what the reaction had been. He might not have always understood the nuances and complexities of the political situation in Derry and Northern Ireland, but he understood enough to know that a Catholic and Protestant together was enough to cause a small riot.

“Why’re you on the floor?” Dee asked, frowning at him and tilting his head.

“Fell,” James grumbled, finally standing up. Orla patted the now empty space on the bed next to her, inviting him to sit down again, but before he had even moved a muscle Erin shouted again.

“Don’t you dare!”

“Erin!” Dee raised his eyebrows, reprimanding her gently. Erin gave him a look that was clearly meant to convey that he didn’t quite understand the situation at hand. James was in half a mind to tell her that she didn’t have a clue what was going on.

“Dee, d’ya know what they were doing? He was _in her bed_.”

“Oh was he?” Dee didn’t look as appalled as Erin did, just mildly interested.

“Sleeping Erin,” Orla said as though her cousin had gone half mad, “We were just sleeping like.”

“Oh aye,” Erin scoffed.

“Besides, you share a bed with Dee don’t you? And in your diary it’s pretty clear you do a lot more than just sleeping,” Orla said matter-of-factly as though she was just reminding Erin of what she’d had for breakfast.

“You read my diary? _Again_?!” Erin now looked positively incensed, and James took a step back when she looked ready to pounce.

He caught Dee’s eye who shrugged then nodded towards the door as if to say ‘let’s go shall we?’.  James smiled gratefully and the two of them slipped from the room just as Erin started yelling at Orla about infringement of personal privacy. He thought Dee had the right idea not to get involved.

“Breakfast’s on the table if you want some?” Dee said as James followed him down the narrow staircase.

“I’d love some.”

The only people downstairs were Mrs Quinn and Anna who looked ready for school, but on the table sat the large breakfast spread that James had come to expect in the mornings at the Quinn’s house. He guessed some things didn’t change much.

“Ah morning James, everything alright upstairs?” Mrs Quinn asked, smiling as he walked in.

“Oh yeah. Orla’s been reading Erin’s diary again,” he explained as there was an almighty thud on the ceiling above their heads. Mrs Quinn just rolled her eyes and carried on plaiting the second braid in Anna’s white blonde hair.

“You two be alright here while I drop Anna off at school?” she asked as Dee poured himself a cup of tea and James put two slices of toast on a plate.

“Aye sure Mary,” Dee nodded, sitting down opposite James.

James watched Mrs Quinn lead Anna from the front room while she chatted away about her new school shoes, and when he turned back to the table Dee was watching him with a slight grin on his face.

“So…you and Erin, that’s a thing is it?” James asked, feeling like he had to make some conversation, and really he was quite interested to know how that had all come about.

“Yeah, yeah it is,” Dee said, his smile widening.

“How’d that happen?”

“At ‘Friends Across the Barricade’ the second year we went. Erin…calmed down a little, I realised she was actually pretty funny, pretty smart, and just pretty too. Then we started seeing each other after we came home. It might not feel like it, but we do live in the same city after all,” Dee explained taking a sip of his tea.

“I’m guessing it didn’t go down too well at first.”

“Aye, not half,” Dee said with a chuckle, “But our families came round in the end, and you know what Erin’s like. She won’t stop once she’s got her mind set on something. Stubborn as anything she is.”

He said it with a fond smile on his face, and James knew this was someone who could handle Erin, and he only had to look into his eyes to see how much he liked her. He didn’t know him well; he could barely remember anything about him from that summer almost four years ago. But from the few words they’d exchanged, he seemed like a good guy.

“And you and Orla then?” Dee said suddenly, making James choke on his mouthful of toast.

“Oh no, no, not like that. We were honestly just sleeping,” James said hurriedly, wishing he could just stop himself from blushing so furiously.

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I-, we’re just friends, that’s all.”

“Oh right, sorry. Just Orla wouldn’t shut up about you, after you left, you know? And I just thought when I saw the two of you, and the way you were looking at her…Ach, well, never mind,” Dee shrugged, draining the last of his tea from his cup. James felt his cheeks grow hot again. He didn’t dare ask Dee what he meant by that, but he found himself thinking over his words when Erin and Orla thundered downstairs, seeming to have put their quarrel behind them. Though James thought Orla looked a little sheepish.

“Any cheerios?” Orla asked brightly, grinning at James. James found himself smiling back, he always found it impossible not to smile at her, but the smile faltered when he caught Dee looking at him out of the corner of his eye. Suddenly he felt like he had been caught doing something he shouldn’t. Though he wasn’t trying to do anything.

“Top cupboard,” Dee said, pointing behind him.

If James thought the most dramatic part of his day would be his rude awakening at the hands of Erin. He forgot that Orla had promised her that James would explain himself, he’d forgot that he had to think of something to say. And then Clare showed up around three in the afternoon. She stood in the doorway, swaying gently, for a full ten seconds just staring at James. She had the same expression on her face that Erin had.

“Christ, you really are here,” she murmured, shaking her head and sitting down on the sofa next to James, “You’re looking well.”

“So are you,” James said, trying for a tentative smile.

Her face hadn’t changed much, but Clare carried herself with an easy confidence that hadn’t been there before. The air of general nervousness that had always followed her around when James had known her had disappeared. He thought getting out of Derry might have been doing her some good. Maybe part of her could relate to James’ leaving.

“So,” Erin stopped Clare from saying anything else to James. She was sat in the armchair that Joe usually occupied, her legs crossed and her arms folded. She looked oddly intimidating to James, and he wondered if this was the stance she adopted when she interviewing people for the newspaper.

“Yeah, I uh, think I owe you an explanation,” James said, angling his body so he was addressing both of them. It was only the three of them in the house, Dee having left some time ago to go to work and Orla spending the afternoon with her mum. James felt a little like he had nowhere to hide, but he reminded himself that these two girls had been two of his closest friends at one point. He hadn’t screwed up all hope of getting that back.

“Yeah, you did just leave kind of suddenly,” Clare said quietly.

“I know I wish I’d said something sooner but I knew you’d all tell me to stay. But I had to leave,” James said, ringing his hands together uncomfortably.

“But why? Why’d you have to go James?” Erin asked, addressing him in a softer voice than she had since he’d arrived.

“It was my mum Erin. I had to go, I’m the only family she has, and she’s all I have.”

“I thought we were your family too James,” Clare said.

“But it’s not the same, you know?”

“She left ye here James. You were a kid.”

“I know,” James sighed, “But I thought it might be different.”

“Was it?” Erin asked.

“For a little while. But no, of course it wasn’t.”

James realised he’d known all along. Part of him had always known that things with his mum wouldn’t change. But it was blind hope that had sent him home to London, and he was glad he’d tried.

“It really threw us for six when you left,” Clare said, still looking like she wasn’t sure whether to forgive him or not.

“Aye,” Erin nodded in agreement, “Michelle was raging. She couldn’t speak she was so angry. And Orla was in pieces. We were a mess without you.”

James felt that familiar guilt closing up his throat. He felt like a fool for not realising that they needed them, for not realising that they cared that much. But it had been some insecure part of him, the part that had never felt like he belonged in Derry, that hadn’t believed Michelle when she’d asked him to stay.

“I didn’t think…” James tried to start to speak, but as so often happened, he couldn’t think of what to say.

“You didn’t think you were our friend?” Erin asked, looking like she didn’t believe that in the slightest.

“No I did, just…just not like the four of you were friends.”

“Ach James,” Clare tutted softly, “You were one of us. You were like…like the glue that held us together.”

“Though I guess…I guess we didn’t realise that until you were gone,” Erin said thoughtfully.

“Was it really that bad?” James asked.

“Yeah. I mean, you know Orla wasn’t…you know she didn’t really hang around with us after you were gone, she started her drama stuff down at the community theatre. She came around eventually but, it was like she went with you,” Clare said, but quickly added, “Don’t feel guilty though, I mean, like you said, you were going with your mam. You had to.”

“She…she what?” James asked, confused about what Clare was talking about.

“Didn’t she tell you?” Erin asked.

“Tell me…no she didn’t.”

“Well, I don’t know why she didn’t want to be with us anymore, she never said. Maybe she just wanted a bit of space, maybe she couldn’t deal with Michelle badmouthing you all the time. She was just distant all of a sudden, at first we thought it was just because she was so upset,” Erin shrugged, “I thought she’d have told you.”

“No,” James shook his head. He could see Erin and Clare share a significant look between them.

“Well it doesn’t matter,” Clare said quickly, but James felt as thought it did. It wasn’t like Orla to push herself away from her friends. Orla needed people, she liked having people around. She wasn’t the kind of person that ever wanted to be alone.

“Look I really am sorry. I thought I was doing the right thing,” James said.

“I know. We know,” Clare said, reaching over and putting her hand on top of James’ knee. The gesture felt like the forgiveness James had been looking for. The two of them glanced up at Erin, who was watching the scene very carefully.

“I’m not mad James,” she said after a few seconds, “Not anymore.”

“We were just angry at how you left. Not that you did,” Clare explained.

“I get that.”

“It’s alright now.”

James felt relief flood his body and he couldn’t help but smile up at Clare.

“Come here,” she said opening her arms and James gladly let her wrap them around him. He could hear Erin get up from her chair and soon she had her arms wrapped around the both of them.

“You need to talk to Michelle,” Erin said quietly.

“I know. I will.”


	10. every man says all he can

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> although not my longest chapter, this is quite a packed one.  
> hope you enjoy!!
> 
> also i've now decided that this work will have 12 chapters which means we're on the home stretch now

The front door of his aunt’s house had never looked so intimidating to James. There had been a time when he’d thought of it as a little safe haven in Derry when things got a bit much. But now it didn’t have the same effect on him. He knew the chances were Michelle was alone in there. Erin had told him she would be home from work by now, but he knew his aunt and the odd hours they made her work at the hospital. Suddenly he wished he’d asked someone to play mediator. But he knew the brave thing to do was to just march in there and face the rift he’d created.

Steeling himself, he took the final few steps so he was mere inches from the door and knocked twice before he could talk himself out of it. He could see the blurred figure of Michelle approaching through the frosted glass on the door, and he felt his heartbeat pick up as his brain ran through a million possibilities of how the next five seconds could go. The door swung open and any pleasantries Michelle might have been about to say were thrown out the window when she saw who was standing on her doorstep.

“Oh. It’s you,” she said with a face like thunder.

“Yeah, I uh, I wanted to talk. To apologise,” James said hurriedly in case Michelle was about to slam the door in his face, or actually give him a black eye this time. She stared him down, her lips pressed tight together, and James couldn’t have guessed what she was thinking even if he was psychic. He didn’t think she looked as angry as she had when she’d first seen him, but maybe that was because the shock had worn off.

“You better have something fucking good to say,” she eventually growled. Though James was sure she was really relishing in the fact that she was going to get a chance to give him a piece of her mind. To say everything that she’d bottled up inside for the past three years.

“Can I come in?” he asked, finding he was unable to look Michelle in the eyes for more than a few seconds at a time.

“I suppose you should,” she said, stepping aside to give James just enough space to get passed. He let Michelle lead them into the small sitting room where she’d obviously been sat watching TV and her steaming mug of tea was still sat on the coffee table. His Aunt Deidre had obviously redecorated since he’d moved out, the cushions and rug and furnishings all looked brand new. Michelle sat down on the two-seater sofa, sprawled out so James was left with the rickety wooden chair beside it. She let him perch there in silence for a few moments before she said anything.

“So? What’s the excuse?” she said, a touch of spite in her voice.

“There isn’t an excuse Michelle,” James said quietly.

“Well you know what James. I don’t even think your tiny English man brain understands what you did,” the way Michelle spoke made it very clear that James had a rant coming his way, and he had a feeling it wasn’t going to be too dissimilar to the things Erin and Clare had told him the day before.

“You fucked us over and for what? Didn’t I tell you not to go? Ridiculous. But there was nothing here for you was there? Not compared to your fancy life in London.”

“It wasn’t like that Michelle. Look, I’m sorry I hurt you,” James said hoping that maybe he could calm her down a little. Though he’d never been able to do that before so he wasn’t sure why he thought that might change.

“It’s not about _me_ James,” she snapped, and James thought she was in denial about how much it had affected her, “You hurt everyone when you left. You didn’t give anyone time to say goodbye, you just fucking left!”

That part had always been James’ biggest regret. He was all too aware that he had taken the coward’s way out.  It might have made things easier for him but it had just made it hurt more for everyone else.

“I know. I wish I’d done it differently, but I knew you’d tell me to stay, and I didn’t want to make it harder than it already was,” James said, keeping his eyes firmly focused on his hands in his lap.

“Easier for yourself, more like,” Michelle muttered.

“Yeah,” James croaked, “It was selfish.”

“And now what? You and Orla are riding each other and you’ve come back here to play happy families?” she scoffed, the level of vitriol and venom in her voice not decreasing in the slightest.

“No, no, she-…no we’re…” James spluttered wishing again that people would stop assuming there was something going on between them. They’d been friends before, why was it so hard for people to think they could be friends again. James didn’t think there was much different about their relationship now, maybe they were a little closer but nothing else.

“Because you do know she likes you?” Michelle asked sharply.

“Michelle, no she…I would know if she _liked_ me,” James shook his head trying to will away the reddening blush on his cheeks. He wondered if this was Michelle’s way of making him feel even more guilty, a cruel trick to make him think he hadn’t earned their forgiveness.

“Why do you think she forgave you so easily?”

“Because she’s Orla. She’s not the kind of person to hold a grudge.”

“Aye sure,” Michelle said, rolling her eyes, her voice laden with sarcasm.

“We’re just friends, good friends. She brought me back here because she knew I wasn’t brave enough to fix things on my own, and I wouldn’t admit that I wanted to. She just wants us to be friends again, that’s all.”

“Right, so I’m guessing she hasn’t told you that she likes you.”

“If she did, which she doesn’t, she would have told me.”

“She hasn’t told me or any of the girls either, but that doesn’t mean it’s not true.”

“Oh so you’re just making all this up.”

“No. I just know, right?”

James smiled, a gesture somewhere between annoyance and fondness. Somewhere over the course of their little exchange they had fallen back into the easy banter that had been so familiar to them three years ago. He saw Michelle glance at him and he knew she could feel it too.

“I really am sorry Michelle,” James said quietly.

“You’re a dick,” she said but there was no fire in her voice anymore.

“I know.”

“How is Aunt Kathy?” she asked, curling her lip in apparent distaste.

“Fine, good. She’s, uh, she’s getting married actually,”

“Aye, Mam got the invite. How’s husband number three?”

“He’s alright. I don’t know him very well.”

“She moves fast, our Kathy,” Michelle shook her head, and honestly James had to agree. He was finished defending his mother for those things. Michelle slapped her thighs and stood up, “Want a tea?”

“I’d love one.”

She never told James she forgave him, not in those exact words. But as they sat in her living room, drinking their tea and filling each other in on what they’d missed in each other’s lives, he could tell she had. It felt warm and familiar to hear the way Michelle animatedly told him anecdote after anecdote and teased him relentlessly for almost everything he told her. He knew he’d missed Michelle but he’d never noticed just how much. He’d never forgot that she’d been the one to run after him, to try one last time to get him to stay. He knew that meant she cared more than she would ever admit. Eventually James looked at the clock and saw that it was nearing six o’clock.

“I said I’d be back for dinner,” he told Michelle as he stood up.

“Alright,” Michelle said standing up with him, “Listen though, before you go, about Orla-,”

“Michelle,” James groaned.

“No listen, just be careful alright? I don’t want you fucking anything up.”

“Nothing’s going to happen, she-,” James was about to insist that she didn’t like him, not in the way Michelle was suggesting. But then the image of soft lips against his own flitted across his mind, and suddenly he wasn’t so sure.

“She what? Why do you just look like you’ve had a brain aneurysm?”

“She, uh, she kissed me,” James said, somewhat absent-mindedly, his mind too preoccupied with the memory of that night. He must have forced himself to stop replaying what had happened over and over again at some point, to stop himself from thinking about what it might have meant. Now he let the memory wash over him, and Michelle’s words, and what Clare and Erin had told him, and what Dee had said. It was probably too naïve to explain it away as drunken antics.

“She _what_?!” Michelle shouted, “And you seriously think Orla doesn’t like you?”

“I need to go,” James muttered distractedly.

“Yeah I think you do.”

First, James felt like he had a lot of thinking to do. He purposely took the long way home, despite knowing dinner would have been waiting for him on the table for half an hour now. No matter how long he walked, it didn’t become any clearer what he should say or do. It was only just beginning to become clear what he thought.

Maybe there was a certain way he looked at her, like Dee had said. And maybe it really did mean something. Maybe it had something to do with how much he liked spending time with her, how he couldn’t imagine life without her anymore. If he was honest with himself, it probably had something to do with how much he enjoyed watching her eyes light up when she smiled, and the way her wild hair fell in front of her face when she fell asleep with her head on his shoulder. It almost definitely had everything to do with how his spine tingled when he thought back to that brief kiss.

James looked up, and realised that he’d stopped in front of Finnoula’s Fish Shop. He briefly wondered if she would remember him from all those years ago. Not letting himself think twice, James walked right on in and ordered a bag of chips. Finnoula did a double take when he walked up to the counter but she didn’t say much.

“Here’s your chips, limey,” she said gruffly, pushing the paper bag across the counter towards him.

By the time he reached the Quinn house everyone had abandoned the dining table in favour of sitting in the living room in front of the TV. Everyone except Orla. James quietly let himself in the front door and tiptoed upstairs, careful not to draw attention to himself. He knocked lightly on Orla’s bedroom door, though he supposed it was temporarily his, before letting himself in to find Orla sat cross-legged on his bed, a large book propped up in her lap. She had taken to joining him in her room before bed, sitting up and chatting with him, helping him do his reading for the next school year, while he let her run lines with him. After the incident with Erin on the first morning she had been careful not to fall asleep there, always retreating to Erin’s room before it got too late. Though he’d ignored it at the time, James realised that he never wanted her to leave.

“What you got there?” Orla asked, eying the bag in his hand.

“Chips, from Finnoula’s,” he said, holding the bag up a little, offering it to her.

“Ach James,” Orla beamed, closing her book. She grinned at him, stars shining in her eyes. James found himself wanting her to always look at him that way. He couldn’t tear his eyes off her.

Given his lack of movement, Orla stood up and walked over to him, unfolding the top of the paper bag and pulling a chip out.

“Mmm, God, it doesn’t get better than that,” she hummed in delight, closing her eyes as she savoured the chip.

“Orla, I think I’m in love with you,” he blurted out. He’d never thought those words before, but as he said them, he knew they were unequivocally true.

Orla’s eyes flashed open, filled with surprise, confusion and a little bit of hope. She just stared at him for what felt like hours but could only have been a matter of mere seconds. And she didn’t say anything at all.

When she did move it was to push James back, her hands on his shoulders, pinning him against the door, startling him into dropping the bag of chips. But he forgot all about them the moment her lips were on his. This wasn’t like the kiss in the bar, chaste and over too quick, this was real and full of life and feeling. And James knew this was what he had wanted all along.


	11. anchor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gosh it's been a while hasn't it?
> 
> i've been super busy with finishing up uni and job hunting and flat hunting etc. but we're back! with our penultimate chapter.
> 
> sorry to keep you all waiting!!

 

 

James yawned, shifting slightly in bed but finding it difficult to move because of a weight sitting on his chest. Slowly he cracked his eyes opened and was met with a mess of curled hair obscuring his vision, there was a moment of confusion before he remembered what had happened the night before.

Maybe he had been more prepared for it this time, but there had been none of his awkward freezing up that had happened the first time Orla had kissed him. Maybe it was because he knew he wanted it this time. He found some confidence he hadn’t even know he’d possessed, he let himself place her hand on the side of her face, feeling the sharp edge of her cheekbone and the heat of her skin beneath his palm. When she realised he was kissing her back, properly this time, he felt her grin against his mouth.

“That’s more like it,” she laughed lightly. And she smiled at him, that same blinding smile that he loved so much. Knowing he was the reason for that smile made it feel even better. He didn’t think he could possibly tell her that, or the million other wonderful thoughts running through his mind, so he put both hands on either side of her face and pulled her closer again. Kissing her seemed to put all those words into a single, clear action.

At some point they had moved from the door to the bed, James letting Orla plant her knees either side of her hips while she kissed him in ways he’d never dared to imagine she would. And at some point after that they’d both fallen asleep, Orla still wearing her dungarees and sprawled out on top of James.

He wasn’t sure what happened now, what he was allowed and supposed to do. He knew there were the not so simple matters of figuring out what this was, and telling people. But in that moment, looking down at Orla sleeping soundly on his chest, he found he was able to push anxious thoughts to the back of his mind for once. Her presence was grounding, like an anchor in deep waters.

He let his fingers trail through her curls, tangling them in the ends watching her head move with the gentle rise and fall of his chest. It felt invasive to watch her sleep so peacefully, and maybe she could sense it because he watched her eyebrows knit together for a moment, before her eyes opened.

“Oh, morning James,” she muttered sleepily. With a lethargic lack of speed, she shuffled onto her stomach, lying with her chin propped up with her hands, staring up at James like she too was trying to figure out where the new boundaries of their closeness lay. In all honesty, her falling asleep on top of him wasn’t beyond the realms of their friendship, but deciding their next move depended on whatever they had become.

Silence settled over them, as she traced her fingers in meaningless shapes over James’ t-shirt covered chest. James had so many questions he wanted to ask her, and things he wanted to say, but he didn’t know where to begin.

“Yesterday,” he said, his voice sounding too loud against the quiet of the early morning, “Michelle told me she thought you liked me.”

“Well I guess she was right wasn’t she?” Orla murmured, turning her head so she was resting on her cheek instead, her eyes closing again.

“Since before or after you kissed me? You know, in the bar that night,” he asked tentatively. He didn’t know why he was nervous of what her answer would be. It wasn’t as though she was going to tell him she didn’t like him after all. The truth was, he though he already knew the answer, and the answer would mean he had hurt her without even trying.

“Before,” she said quietly, her eyes still closed, “Quite a way before really.”

“Before I left Derry?”

“Yeah,” Orla said with a little laugh, her short huff of breath disturbing the hairs on James’ arm.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. If I’d have told you this would never have happened,” she said, rather philosophically. James sometimes forgot that she could be exceptionally wise when she wanted to be.

“It might have,” he said. He didn’t believe in fate, but he liked to think he would have realised how great Orla was either way. He didn’t want to think that what he considered to be the worst mistake he’d made had been the reason this had happened.

“Probably not,” Orla said, and there was a note of finality to her tone.

“I might not have left though.”

“You still would have, and that’s okay. You had to.”

James sighed, there was a kind of logic to her explanation. But James would have liked to save them all the pain of him leaving so suddenly.

“Everything’s worked out the way it’s meant to. It always does.”

He supposed she was right. She often was.

They lay in silence for a few more minutes, and James was wondering if she was about to drift back to sleep. Despite the early summer sun outside, the clock on the bedside table told him it was still not yet seven o’clock. There were the first rumblings of people waking up around the house. Distantly James could hear the sound of Mrs Quinn rousing Anna from her bedroom next door.

“Do you think we should go downstairs?” he asked Orla quietly. Honestly he was hoping to avoid a repeat of his first morning in the Quinn household. If they got up before Erin, then they wouldn’t have to endure her barging in on them again. And it might be a little harder to feign innocence this time.

“Sure,” Orla said, rubbing her eyes and sitting up slowly. James copied her, stretching his arms high above his head before he swung his legs over the side of the bed. He glanced over his shoulder and watched Orla use the turquoise scrunchie on her wrist to tie her hair into a ponytail at the nape of her neck. He tried hard not to stare, but it was a little harder now he felt like he wasn’t about to scare her away if he got caught.

“Don’t you want to get changed?” he asked her as she straightened out the wrinkled t-shirt beneath her dungarees.

“I probably should,” she said thoughtfully, “I’ll meet you downstairs.”

As she retreated to Erin’s room, as quietly as she could, James hurriedly pulled on some fresh clothes. As he suspected, it was just Anna and Mrs Quinn sitting round the kitchen table when he came downstairs with Joe sat in his usual armchair in the living room, the day’s paper spread wide in front of his face.

“James, we didn’t hear you come in last night son. Thought you might have stayed over at Michelle’s,” she said, instantly standing up and fussing around him, fetching him a mug of tea and buttering his toast for him.

“I was just tired, I wanted to get straight to bed,” James said, accepting the toast and tea from her gratefully.

“I hope she didn’t give you too much of a hard time,” Mrs Quinn said reproachfully.

“No it was fine.”

Orla appeared at the kitchen door a few minutes later, followed shortly after by her mum who had her first cigarette of the day clutched between her fingers. Mercifully, there was still no sign of Erin, so he hoped Orla had succeeded in not waking her. James didn’t think he was ready for that storm when it came their way.

“Oh love, I forgot to tell you, I found that address for you,” Sarah suddenly turned to James rifling through her dressing gown pocket and pulling out a folded scrap of paper, “Though I don’t-“

“I’ll take that Mammy,” Orla reached across the table and took the piece of paper before James could get to it. He didn’t have a clue what was going on, but Orla shot him a look that said ‘I’ll explain later’. He was still about to ask Sarah what this was all about, wracking his brain to work out when he’d asked for an address, but he never got to, his sentence drowned out by the sound of Erin entering the room.

“Well now this is getting ridiculous!” she said her voice loud and indignant. Her eyes immediately fell on James, who was nearest to her, before switching to Orla whom she glared at accusingly.

“Erin would you stop yelling, you’re going to wake the whole street up,” Mrs Quinn said impatiently.

“Well Mammy do you know who didn’t sleep in her proper bed last night?” Erin asked, though she didn’t wait for an answer before she said, “Orla was in James’ room _again_.”

Mrs Quinn glanced at James and he suddenly felt incredibly guilty, and he knew he couldn’t feign innocence. Even though they really had just slept in the same bed together, he couldn’t pretend nothing had happened.

“Is that true?” she asked, her eyes swivelling from Orla to James like she was watching a very tense tennis match. More than guilty, the look she caught him under make James feel as though he’d betrayed her trust.

“Aye Aunt Mary,” Orla nodded, and James couldn’t help but send her a withering look. She was the actress here, surely she could have pulled off a lie better than him. But then he didn’t really think it was in her nature to lie.

“But why love?” Sarah asked her sounding only mildly interested.

“Well why do you think Aunt Sarah?” Erin said sounding very self-righteous.

“We were sleeping Erin,” James said, his voice weak.

“Oh sure, like I’ll believe that this time.”

He listened as Orla tried to back up James, earning herself a rather aggressive rebuttal from Erin, who in turn was chastised by her mother, and Anna joined in the shouting just because she seemed to want to. The only person who hadn’t dragged themselves into the conversation was Joe, who was still sat reading his paper as though battle lines weren’t being drawn in the kitchen.

James felt a hand on his shoulder and saw Orla was tugging to pull him out of the kitchen while Erin was preoccupied with the shouting match she was having her mother.

“Come on,” she whispered urgently, “Before it gets ugly.”

James let himself be guided through the hallway and out the front door, trying to ignore Erin and Mrs Quinn shouting after them.

“You know we’re going to have to explain ourselves when we get back,” James told her.

“Aye I know, but it’s too early for that right now.”

James jumped a little when he felt Orla curl her hand around his, and he was struck by all the same questions and thoughts he’d had when he’d been lying in bed that morning. He knew what he wanted this to be, but he wasn’t sure if that was the same thing Orla had in mind. He glanced at her, and saw she had a small smile on her face.

“Orla?”

“Mmm,” she said, looking up at him.

“Are we-…I mean, do you, or would you…” the hundreds of ways James had thought about how to say this very precise sentence got jumbled in his head and he couldn’t seem to string one together coherently. Orla raised her eyebrows in an amused expression, and luckily she seemed to understand what it was James was trying to say.

“Are we together? Is that what you were going to say?”

“Yeah, something like that.”

“Well I think that’s the next step,” Orla said, nodding sagely.

James smiled, mostly to himself, hoping it wasn’t obvious just how much he was blushing. Then he realised that Orla was leading him out of the estate, and he didn’t have a clue which direction they were heading in.

“Where are we going?”

“Oh, uh,” Orla let go of his hand so she could pull the piece of paper out of her pocket, “Well I asked me Mam if she could ask around, for your Dad you know. I knew she’d be able to find out. And she did!”

“Wait…we’re going to see my Dad?”

“Yes, that’s what I said.”

“Right now?”

“Yes James,” Orla said, now sounding a little exasperated.

“We can’t go right now!” James said, stopping in his tracks. This was a huge moment, maybe the biggest in his entire life. It didn’t feel right that it should be decided on a whim. He felt like he had to have time to prepare, to think of what he was going to say, what he should expect. This was the kind of thing he needed weeks to ruminate over.

“Orla I don’t think I can,” he said shaking his head. A kind of existential terror had gripped him, crushing under the knowledge that this moment had the potential to be life-defining. For most of his life, he’d been fairly content with the fact that he didn’t know his father, and he probably never would. Maybe it had bothered him when he was much younger. But he’d had his step-dad and his mum, and he got used to the permanent absence in his life. He wasn’t sure he was ready to have his world re-adjusted so dramatically. And then there was the even more terrifying prospect that his father wouldn’t want anything to do with him.

“Of course you can,” Orla said, taking his hand again and trying to coax him along.

“No I can’t.”

“What else are you going to do today?”

A disbelieving huff of laughter left James’ mouth. Orla was acting as though she was asking him out to the cinema, not about to change his life.

“James,” she said, her voice more serious all of a sudden. She stood in front of James, clutching both of his hand, “I know you want this.”

And he did. Somewhere deep inside he knew she was right. He did want this, he always had. Even if it was just to know who he was, but it terrified him.

“You can do this,” she whispered, placing one hand on his cheek and her lips to the other. It was a small gesture, but it made him find an extra spark of courage he didn’t know he had.

“Alright.”

She grinned, and together they walked until they reached a small bungalow on one of the adjacent estates. It sent an awkward thrill up his spine to know that his father had been less than five miles away the entire time he’d been in Derry. Had his mother known he was so close? Had he passed him in the street and had no idea?

“Here we are,” Orla said after they’d been stood at the bottom of the garden path for a few seconds, “Do you want me to come with you?”

“Please.”


End file.
